


Ouroboros

by xenascully



Series: Castiel's Army [3]
Category: NCIS, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Temporary Character Death, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-26
Updated: 2010-08-27
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenascully/pseuds/xenascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McGee goes missing...Upon his return, something just isn't right. And where is Castiel? ~THIRD installment in Castiel's Army series. Supernatural crossover. Picks up where Mind's Eye left off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or Supernatural characters. But I like to play with them. 
> 
> Spoilers: Heh...haven't done this yet...like EVER, (as far as indicating there are spoilers—I've definitely used them lol) there will probably be glimpses all around. Why wouldn't there be?!

McGee hadn't been able to get back to sleep after his visit from Castiel. The angel had left abruptly, making Tim wonder if it had all just been some weird waking-dream. But it had left him unsettled enough to stay awake. 0430 wasn't an unheard of time to get up, anyway.  
Luckily, he'd brought his laptop downstairs before giving Ducky the room and he was able to kill time till sunrise, writing out his strange dream with Castiel, and playing Red Cell with people who'd undoubtedly not even gone to bed yet. It was 0500 when Ziva quietly came downstairs in sweats and told him she was going for a run. He told her to be careful, and she'd merely given him a smirk before heading out the door.  
When he realized the sun had come up behind him, he shut down the game and made his way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As he filled the carafe with water, he wondered why no one had thought to bring a second machine over by now. The twelve-cup brew would satisfy Gibbs, but what about the rest of them? 

“Morning,” he heard Tony greet from the doorway, and he turned to see the slightly disheveled-looking agent.

“Hey, Tony,” he grinned, happy to see him looking ten times better than the night before. “You're up early.”

“Was about to say the same to you,” he said as he shuffled further into the room. “Ziva brought a thermos,” he motioned to the top of the fridge where the silver container sat. “So you can dump that pot into it when it's done and start some coffee for the rest of us,” he smirked. Tim couldn't help but let out a small laugh at the ironic solution to his previous thought. “Sorry about...slightly freakin' out last night, Probie,” he grimaced.

The smile left Tim's face and he furrowed a brow. “I don't blame you for freaking out, Tony. That was...a lot to process.”

“It's just that...I was so focused on the promise I made to Dean, to watch out for his little brother, that I kinda got sidetracked from watchin' out for my own.” Until that moment, Tony's eyes had been focused elsewhere. But now the green orbs met with the possibly shocked or amazed, hazel eyes of the younger agent.

“Did you just-”

“Yeah, I did,” Tony didn't wait for the full-out question. Tony had essentially called him his little brother, and it was the nicest thing McGee could remember him ever having said to him. “Figured a thing or two I wished I woulda said, when I thought you weren't coming back. I'm sorry I didn't have your six, Tim.”

“Tony, you couldn't have stopped it-”

“Fact is, you died,” he interrupted yet again. “I let you down.”

“No, you didn't. You saved me in the end. Even if you didn't know you were doing it. I'm right here. I'm alive, and it's because of a decision that you made.” Tony looked at him, thoughtfully, for a good long moment. “Oh god...you're not gonna hug me again, are you?” McGee grimaced.

“Think I'm gonna have to,” Tony blurted out, “Just a little.” He wrapped his arms unceremoniously around McGee and hugged him.

“You done gropin' McGee so I can come in there, DiNozzo?” Gibbs' voice sounded from the doorway.

“Go 'way, boss,” Tony mumbled, his words slightly muffled by the way his face was shmooshed against Tim's shoulder. “Coffee's not ready yet, anyway. Besides, McGoo likes it,” he grinned when Tim pushed him away.

“Real funny, Tony,” he grumbled before turning to open the fridge.

“Don't make me call Vance and order up another harassment seminar,” Gibbs said as he entered the kitchen.

“You wouldn't do that, boss,” Tony grinned. “'Cause then you'd be stuck attending it, too.”

“Glad to see you're feelin' better this mornin',” Gibbs smirked as he poured himself a cup of coffee right as it finished brewing. “Thanks for makin' coffee, McGee.”

“No problem, boss,” Tim replied. “I'm gonna go grab my bag from the car so I can grab a quick shower before work.”

“Hey, can ya grab my phone outta my car for me?” Tony asked. “I left it charging; should be in the front seat.”

“Sure,” McGee headed out just as Ziva made her way in the door. “Good run?”

“Most uneventful,” she reassured him as she brushed past him toward the kitchen. “Good morning, Gibbs; Tony,” she greeted as she went to the fridge for a bottle of water. She turned to appraise Tony as she opened the lid. “You are looking much better,” she told him.

“Gee, thanks,” he replied sarcastically, but with a smirk. “You don't look so bad yourself, being the first man down last night. Er...woman,” he corrected himself. “I'd've thought you woulda been the one kickin' the most demon-butt.”

“Well, I would have,” she defended, “Had I not...hesitated. It was my mistake.”

“Hey, well don't beat yourself up,” Tony said as he sat at the table. “You did manage to ice one of those things before getting flicked across the room like a cigarette butt.”

“I should've covered ya better,” Gibbs added. “I'll admit, I thought it'd be like any other combat situation. Just with different weapons. But it wasn't, and that's where I made my mistake; tryin' to comprehend what we were lookin' at.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, “When Sam said it'd go down fast, he meant it.” Small flashes of memory from the night before, came into his thoughts. He narrowed his eyes and looked up from the table-top where he'd be absentmindedly focused, and peered past Gibbs into the living room. “Wonder if he's having trouble gettin' into my car.” He stood and made his way toward the front door.  
When he opened the door, he immediately knew something was wrong. Amongst the parked cars in the driveway, his door was open and Tim's bag was on the ground. But McGee was no where in sight. “McGee?” Tony called out, walking up to the cars. “Probie, where are you?” his heart started pounding in his chest and he was only minutely aware that his voice was getting louder as he continued. “McGee?” he wove around each of the cars, peering inside each one.

“What's going on?” Sam's voice was suddenly behind him, and Tony realized then that Gibbs and Ziva had joined the search and Sam and Dean must have been woken up by his yelling.

Dean stepped in front of Tony and grabbed his biceps to stop him and get his attention long enough to repeat the question, “Dude, what's going on? What happened?”

Tony's eyes met his, fear and guilt displayed clearly for the hunter before him. “McGee's gone...”


	2. Chapter 2

After having scouted the neighborhood for witnesses, none of them had been successful in finding a single person who'd seen or heard anything of McGee's disappearance. It had been too early, too quiet.   
Sam, Dean and Bobby searched the area where it seemed McGee had been standing before vanishing. They found no sign of demonic presence; no sulfur and no hex bags. And after Gibbs, Ziva and Tony managed to scour the entire parameter of the outside of the house with fine-toothed combs, they came to the agreement that there was no sign of struggle.   
“I don't understand,” Tony said in barely a whisper and he aimlessly looked far off up the street. “How does someone just disappear?”

“They don't,” Gibbs replied before turning into the house. Tony followed him, hoping he might have some idea as to what was going on and was just being cryptic about it, as usual. “Ziva, call Vance. Tell him we've got a missing agent and we need a BOLO. Tony, check out his laptop. See if there's anything in his email; threats or anything else suspicious.”

“You think this is a kidnapping?” Tony asked.

“Gibbs, what's going on?” Abby asked as she hurried down the stairs.

“Abs, I need you an' Duck to go back to the Yard. McGee's missing.”

“What?” her eyes widened in horror. “How? When?”

“I don't know, Abby!” he shouted. “I don't know how. I need you...to go in to work.” After a moment of hesitation, Abby went back up the stairs to wake Ducky. Gibbs turned to Dean, “Where's Castiel? He said this house was safe, damn it!”

“I haven't seen him since last night,” Dean told him. “But I'll try and call, see if he knows anything about this,” he pulled out his phone and turned to dial. 

“Boss,” Tony called out from where he sat on the couch in front of McGee's computer. “You should take a look at this.” Gibbs crossed the room and sat on the edge of the couch beside Tony and squinted at the screen. “About an hour ago, he created a new document. Looks like he was writing out a dream he had. Starts out with...what happened last night,” he glanced at Gibbs. “Can you see it, or ya want me to read it out loud?”

“Just read it, DiNozzo,” he replied without hesitation.

“On it, boss. Uh...okay:  
“The wolf was gone, now, and I could hear Loki laughing at me. I turned to look at him. Saw him staring right at me. Then I heard him speak, though his mouth didn't move. He said 'It's not over,' and then Tony was beside me.  
“I told him...or I tried to, anyway. I told him he'd have to finish it. But I guess I'm not exactly sure what that means. Then I woke up. Or I thought I did, anyway. I sat up and turned on the light and Castiel was sitting in the chair. It scared the crap out of me, but he didn't seem to have meant to. He said he'd been waiting for me to wake up so he could ask me what Loki said to me. How he knew that it said anything to me, I don't know. But I told him. He said we have more work to do. Then he just kinda...disappeared.”

“That part probably wasn't a dream,” Sam said from where he had been standing, listening. “Cas was probably here talking to him.”

“Well where the hell is he now?” Gibbs demanded as he stood from the couch. Sam turned to look at Dean who was still on the phone.

“Cas, where the hell are you, man? We've kinda got a situation. Did you zap McGee someplace with you? If ya did, ya gotta warn people, ya know! Answer your damn phone! Or well...call me when you get this,” he slammed the phone closed.

“You think Cas took Tim?” Sam asked his brother. 

“I can't think of any other explanation at this point. Can you?” Dean asked. “Damnit, Cas...where the hell are you?”

11 00 11 00 11

 

“You have no idea what you're doing,” Castiel told the woman who paced the room around him. He was trapped in a ring of holy fire, forced to stand there with no where to go.

“I know what I'm doing,” she replied. Her short, fiery-red hair didn't sway when she walked, as it was held in thick clumps with product. “I'm following orders.”

“Orders in which you have no means to understand the outcome. You are human. What do you stand to gain by doing this? Whose orders do you follow?”

“You really think Loki didn't have a back-up plan?” she grinned. “You ask what I stand to gain... Yeah, you're right; I'm just a human. After this is done, the one I'm following orders from will give me the one thing I've always wanted. To be a powerful witch.”

“The only thing you will receive is death,” he told her. “Demons lie.”

“Demons?” she laughed. “Loki's children aren't just demons, Castiel. They're gods. They can do whatever they want.”

“But I can guarantee you that they will not give you what you want. You're a pawn. You have no idea what you're doing; what you are allowing to happen.”

“I know enough,” she replied. “Don't worry, Castiel. You won't be here forever.” With that, she smiled and left the room, leaving Castiel by himself.

11 00 11 00 11

Tim exited the cab in a daze. The driver didn't seem to care about the fare, unless he'd prepaid. In whatever case, McGee couldn't remember. As he watched the cab drive away, he realized he was across the street from NCIS.   
Did I drink last night? I feel like I might have drank last night... he thought as he approached the security gate.

“Agent McGee?” the guard came out of the hut and came toward him.

Tim looked at the man and was slightly surprised at himself when he flinched away as the guy tried to take his arm. “'Course it's me, John. Who else would I be?” he replied. 

“Whole agency's been put on alert,” he told him as he picked up his radio. “Someone alert the Director I have Agent McGee at the front gate,” he spoke into it.

“What's going on? Why have we been put on alert?” Tim asked. 

“John, you've got the okay to bring him inside,” a voice sounded over the radio.

“Come on, Tim,” John told him. “Let's get you in to see Dr. Mallard while we wait for Agent Gibbs to get here.”

“W-why do I need to see Ducky?” he asked as he hesitantly followed him toward the building.

“You're obviously hurt, man,” he told him.

“What?” McGee glanced down at himself, realizing he was still in the clothes he'd worn to bed. Only, now they were torn and dirty with small specks of dried blood. His arms had bruising on them and marks around his wrists. Suddenly, the aching all over his body became evident whereas he hadn't even noticed it before.

“Tim, you've been missing for three hours.” John's words made his stomach ache and his eyes grow wide with confusion...

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs and Tony rushed into autopsy after having rushed to NCIS upon hearing of McGee's unexpected arrival. The younger agent was sitting on one of the cold tables; clad in only boxer-shorts; arms wrapped around his naked torso. His eyes met Gibbs' then Tony's as they approached him.  
“You okay, Tim?” Gibbs asked in a soft voice. McGee answered only with a small nod.

“What happened?” Tony asked as he appraised him for damage.

“I don't remember,” he replied in a hushed voice.

“Ducky, what's his damage?” Gibbs asked the M.E who walked back toward them from his desk.

“Superficial wounds, Jethro. Some mild bruising and contusions scattered about his body. Certainly nothing life-threatening. But as for why anyone would do this, I cannot begin to guess.”

“No concussion?” Tony asked.

“Not that I can tell,” he replied. “They must have drugged him, which would explain the memory loss.”

“You find anything on him?” Gibbs asked.

“I took a blood sample; sent it up to Abigail with his clothing. Other than that, I've not been able to find anything indicating who might have attacked him,” the doctor explained.

Gibbs and Tony turned their attention back to McGee. “You don't remember who took you?” Gibbs asked.

Tim shook his head, “I...remember going outside to my car,” he said. “Then showing up here in a cab.” He briefly closed his eyes as a tremor ran through his body.

“Are ya cold?” Tony asked, reaching out to touch his arm. 

McGee jumped at the contact and nearly fell off the table, had Gibbs not caught him. “I- I'm sorry,” Tim stuttered. “Don't know why I'm so damn jumpy...”

“Got reason to be,” Gibbs said. “Duck, ya got somethin' he can put on till we can get him back to the house?”

“Certainly, Jethro,” he said as he turned to go to his desk. 

“That is,” Gibbs turned to look at Tim again, “If you feel okay about goin' back there?”

Eagerly, McGee nodded, “Yeah, boss, I'd like to go.” He slid down off of the table, dropping his hands and exposing his abdomen for the first time since the two older agents had been in the room. Tony grimaced at the fist-sized bruises that painted the pale skin of his stomach. But Gibbs was the one to notice Tim's face just as it turned a sickly shade of green, sending him quickly toward the double sinks before he vomited. 

Gibbs put a hand high on he agent's back, which seemed to immediately sent another tremor through the kid's body and cause him to heave again. Gibbs looked over at the doctor who was returning to them with a navy-blue M.E jumper. “You sure he's okay, Duck?”

“X-rays proved he doesn't have any breaks or internal bleeding. The blood-tests shouldn't take much longer. Once Abigail has the results, you'll be the first to know.”

11 00 11 00 11

“Ziva,” Gibbs said as he entered the bullpen, “A cab dropped McGee off at the front gate. I want the security footage.”

“Already looking at it, Gibbs,” she said from her computer, then decidedly clicked on the program to put it up on the big screen. “There is no clear shot of the driver, but it looks as though he did not charge him a fare. The license tags are fake. I ran them, myself.”

“So chances are, whoever was drivin' is the one who took him in the first place,” Gibbs said as he squinted at the screen. 

“How is McGee?” she questioned, turning he body to face him.

“He's okay. Shaken up, but not seriously hurt. DiNozzo's bringin' him back to the house.”

“Abby says he does not remember anything.”

“Yeah. He was likely drugged,” he said just as his phone rang. “Yeah. Gibbs.” There was a pause as he listened to the voice on the other line. “We'll be right down,” he ended the call. “Abby has somethin'.”

11 00 11 00 11

There was a pointed silence up to the halfway point in the car. McGee had been gently wringing his hands, focusing on a small smudge on the passenger window, in thought.  
Tony, however, was stewing in the silence. It was killing him. He had barely recovered from the unadulterated fear of having lost the kid that morning, and now neither of them knew what the hell happened to him while he was gone.  
“You sure you're okay?” he finally asked.

Tim didn't look away from the smudge, “Yeah. I'm fine.” His voice was small and lost.

“Do you remember talking to Castiel?” That got his attention; McGee's head turned to look at Tony. “I just uh...when you vanished, Gibbs had me check your computer. I read about the dream,” he glanced at him. “Sam doesn't think your little talk with the angel was a dream, though.” After a moment, McGee turned his focus back on the smudge, leaning his forehead against the window. “So, I guess we've got more work to do, according to Castiel...and your dream.”

Tim closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, slowly releasing it. “I don't wanna do this anymore,” he whispered.

“McGee...”

“I can't, Tony,” his eyes opened, but they fixed out the window. “This...stuff we've been 'chosen' to do; the ghosts and demons and gods... I could do that. I could deal with those things, with everyone on the team. But disappearing for three hours and not knowing what the...hell...” his eyes darted around.

“Yeah, Probie, I know...” Tony said in a tone that seemed broken to McGee. The younger agent looked at him once more. “No more leaving the house without use of the buddy-system,” he told him. “And whatever it is we gotta do, if you need to sit it out this time, that's completely okay.” 

“Thanks...” his replied quietly.

As they began to pull into the driveway, they saw Dean working under the hood of the Impala; Sam leaning back against the passenger door, keeping him company as he worked. But once the Winchesters saw them pull in, they abandoned their tasks and headed toward Tony's car.  
“Hey, man,” Dean opened McGee's door and held out a hand to assist him out. “Abby called once they found you. Glad you're okay,” he closed the door once he was out. “She said you don't remember anything?”

“No...sorry.”

“It's okay. Just that we still haven't heard back from Cas. I don't know what to make of all this, ya know?”

“You an' me, both,” McGee answered before starting toward the house. 

“Bobby's fixing lunch, if you're hungry,” Sam told them as they followed them.

“If it's okay with you,” Tim said, “I'm pretty tired. I think I'm just gonna go upstairs and get some sleep.” He paused at the door after Tony opened it, and he looked down at the threshold with a strange feeling of dread.

“McGee?” Tony questioned when he realized the agent's confused look. Tim looked up at him, then back down before stepping inside. 

“Just a couple hours,” he said quietly before retreating up the stairs...

11 00 11 00 11

“I found traces of chloroform in McGee's blood sample,” Abby told the agents when they came into her lab. “I've been attempting to find DNA on his clothes that doesn't belong to him. But so far, I haven't found anything. Chances are, whoever did this, if it even is a who and not a what... they were wearing gloves.”

“Sam and Dean found no evidence of demonic foul-play,” Ziva told her. “They said there would have been sulfur near by.”

“Yeah well it doesn't really make much sense that anyone, much less a demon, would just up and take Timmy and beat the pulp out of him...not even very well, I might add, then drop him off at work,” Abby said. “It just doesn't make any sense.”

“Unless they were trying to get some kind of information out of him,” Gibbs thought out loud. 

“But what could they possibly want to know from McGee?” Ziva asked. “I was out running for over an hour and no one made an attempt to grab me. I know as much as he does.”

“Maybe,” Gibbs said. “Won't know much unless his memory comes back.”

“It might not, Gibbs,” Abby said. “The amount of chloroform they had to have given him, between abducting him and dropping him off, there's no way to tell how much or how often they did it.”

“Ziva, you stay with Abby and help her keep searching his clothes. I want answers, and until I get them, I don't want anyone off by themselves,” he turned to leave the lab.

“What about you, Gibbs?” Ziva asked. But Gibbs didn't reply. Instead, he continued to the elevator and up to the bullpen. Just as he'd presumed, Vance was there waiting for him.

“Any luck?” he asked the lead agent.

“Whoever took him used chloroform,” he replied as he sat down at his desk. “Don't know much more than that.”

“And what about the wild dog attack? I heard you handed the case back over to the unit.”

“Yeah. We were wrong about the hit,” Gibbs casually picked up a file and opened it on his desk.

“After all the arguing to the contrary...”

“Better to know for certain, Leon. Wouldn't have wanted it to happen again just because there were special ops security protocols.”

“I suppose I'll have a report on my desk by the end of the day on how, exactly, you were able to ascertain that it wasn't a hit?”

“I've got an agent out of commission right now,” he looked up at him. “And another keepin' an eye on him. The rest of us are tryin' to figure out what the hell happened to him. You really want me to do some BS paperwork so you've got your files straight, right now? Or can I do my job?”

“Part of your job, Agent Gibbs, is making sure that paperwork is done; keeping me informed of what it is, exactly, that you and your team is working on. But somethin' tells me there's been more goin' on then you've been letting on.”

Gibbs tilted his head up, “What makes you think that, Director?”

Vance matched his glare for a moment. “My gut.”

“Well maybe you're gut could be better used to figure out who took my agent this morning,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “Or has it already told you something about that, too?” 

Leon narrowed his eyes at the agent for a long moment before turning his back to him and heading to the stairs. “I want that report, Gibbs. Before you leave here today.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Kid alright?” Bobby asked Dean when Tony left the table for the fourth time to go check on McGee.

“Which one?” Dean smirked.

“Guess both of 'em,” Bobby said as he stood to put his plate in the sink.

“Yeah, I think so,” Dean said.

“Tony's just worried Tim might disappear again if he leaves him alone too long,” Sam added.

“Gonna give himself an ulcer if he keeps that up,” Bobby replied before coming back to the table with a beer in hand.

“Can't say I blame him for bein' worried,” Dean said as he rubbed his forehead between his eyebrows with his fingertips. “Who knows what happened to him or...who took him...” Dean's breathing noticeably changed as he leaned forward a bit, placing a hand over his eyes in attempt to fend off the sudden throbbing in his head.

“You okay, Dean?” Sam asked with a furrowed brow.

“Just got a...” he swallowed as the sound of his own voice seemed to make it worse. Decidedly, he dropped it close to whispering, “Just got a helluva headache all of a sudden...” he grunted as the pain flared.

“You wanna take something for it?” Bobby asked. But suddenly, the pain became so intense that both of Dean's hands balled up into fists in front of his chest and every muscle in his face and neck strained.

“Dean!” Sam shot out of his chair as his brother's nose began gushing blood, leaving trails down past his chin. Sam caught him as he slipped from the chair, “Dean, can you hear me?” he gripped the sides of Dean's face and realized that there was blood coming from his ears as well. “Oh god...Bobby, what's happening?!”

“I don't know, but he needs a doctor,” Bobby said as he anxiously pulled out his phone.

“Dean, you gotta breathe!” Sam instructed when he realized he hadn't taken a breath since he fell from the chair. The response he got from Dean was a screamed exhale as the older brother slammed his eyes closed and fell against Sam's chest. “We're gonna get you some help, Dean,” he tried to reassure his brother even though his heart was sinking in his own chest at the moment at the sound of Dean's struggled, pained breaths.

“S- Sam- Sammy...” Dean's hands were clenching, clawing Sam's shirt now. Dean was beginning to see something in his head; flashes of something he couldn't quite make out.

“I've got you,” Sam told him as he held onto him for dear life. “I'm right here.”

“S-stop...s-stop it...hurts...” and suddenly Dean's body was pushing away from Sam. That's when they realized the older Winchester was now seizing in Sam's arms.

“Dean?” Sam felt helpless as he watched the display; Dean's eyes, open and unfocused...then red tears cascading from the corners, down to meet the tracks that the blood from his ears had made. “What is this...what's happening to him?” 

“Medic's on the way, Sam,” Bobby said as he knelt down beside Dean, facing Sam. “I got no idea what this is...”

“What happened?” Tony said as he rushed into the kitchen.

“I don't...” Sam looked up at the agent. “Something's wrong...”

“Said his head hurt outta nowhere,” Bobby told him.

Suddenly Dean sucked in a breath and arched his back, the seizing coming to an abrupt halt. “Sonofabitch!” he yelled as he tried to catch his breath.

“Dean? You with us?” Bobby asked.

Dean looked at Bobby, then at his brother before moving to sit up. “Cas is in trouble. We gotta go get him,” he pushed himself up to stand.

“Whoa, hold on,” Sam said as he stood up beside him. “Dean, you just had a seizure, among other things. You need to go to the hospital-”

“Sam, it was Cas,” he explained with a furrowed brow. “He was tryin' to show me where he was. He's trapped and we need to get him out...” At that, the room started spinning and Dean felt himself begin to fall over.

“Whoa,” Tony caught him and held him up as Sam moved to his other side to assist. “I don't think you should be going anywhere right now, buddy.” They helped lead him over to the couch as Bobby went to the bathroom to fetch a wet washcloth.

“'M fine,” Dean protested as they sat him down on the couch. “Just a little dizzy.”

“Whatever Cas did to try and communicate with you,” Sam said, “It could've caused some major damage.”

“I said I'm fine, Sammy,” Dean insisted. “Either way, we find Cas and he can fix me, right? So let's go.”

“Tell me where he is,” Tony said. “I'll call Gibbs and we'll go get him.”

Dean looked up at the agent. “Could be too dangerous. Place could be crawling with demons.”

“I'll go with 'em,” Bobby said as he came into the living room with a basin of water and a washcloth, setting it on the coffee table before Sam took the cloth and began tending to his brother's bloodied face. 

Dean would've otherwise flinched away from the care if he hadn't been preoccupied running through his thoughts; trying to recall the things he'd seen in his vision. “Everyone should come back here,” he decided. 

“Got an EMT on the way,” Bobby said.

“What? No...call 'em off, Bobby. Ducky can take a look at me if he needs to. We're not bringin' anyone else in here.”

“Dean-”

“Cas is locked down in a circle of holy fire! There's no tellin' why, or what might be comin' for us. But the only place I know is safe, is here. So get on the phone, call off the bus, and get everyone back here till we can get to Cas!” Dean shouted then immediately began to waver, slowly sinking to one side into his brother.

“Dean?” Sam cradled him as he lowered down onto his side, laying across Sam's lap.

“Room's spinnin'. Jus' need to lie down for a minute,” he explained. Worried, Sam looked up at Bobby who was already on the phone. Then to Tony who was sitting in the chair across from them now, looking just as apprehensive.

“I'll call Gibbs,” Tony decided before standing and walking toward the stairs as he dialed. He ascended slowly as he listened to the ringing on the other line.

“Yeah. Gibbs.”

“Boss, we need everyone to come back to the house,” he told him.

“Somethin' wrong with McGee?” his voice sounded tense.

“No, it's not that. Castiel somehow contacted Dean-- it's hard to explain. He had some kinda vision but it's messed him up pretty bad. He was seizing when I came downstairs; bleeding from the ears and nose...and his eyes... Boss, I dunno what the hell is going on, but he says Castiel is being held and we've gotta go get him. He doesn't think anyone's safe out there.”

“I'll get us all home, Tony. Just sit tight.” Apparently, Gibbs had detected the fear in Tony's voice; something the senior field agent hadn't intended to show at all. But as the call ended, he managed to compose himself, and peeked into McGee's room to make sure he was still okay... 

11 00 11 00 11

“I don't see anything that points to severe brain injury,” Ducky said after examining Dean.

“Gee thanks, Ducky. Pretty sure that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me,” Dean smirked.

Ducky let out a small laugh. “Well, nothing I can see without looking inside, anyway. But the bleeding causes me concern. I don't think you should go out and about when there's a high possibility you could collapse at any given moment.”

“So I'm stuck here...again,” he sighed. 

“Until we can get Cas back here, yeah,” Sam said sternly. 

“But sending them out there alone...”

“They can do this, Dean,” Sam said. “They're ready. Gibbs, Tony and Ziva...we'll give them Ruby's knife and Bobby'll have the colt. If they happen across any demons, they're covered just as well as we would be.”

“Sam's right,” Bobby told him. “An' this is a rescue mission, not a hunt. We go in and out real quick an' bring Cas back here so he can fix whatever the hell he's done to ya.”

“You can trust us, Dean,” Tony said from the stairs he'd just descended. “Just like I can trust you to keep Tim safe while we're gone. Ya know...not let roam around outside or anything...”

Dean knew that Tony might simply be humoring him; making him feel useful in some way where he hadn't been at all in what seemed like forever. Anyone could stop Tim from going outside. Well...not that Dean even felt much like moving from the couch in that moment, let alone to the door. But he was in no mood to argue, and it was clear he wasn't going on this mission. So he'd do this to the best of his ability; take care of Tony's 'little bro'...

*~.~*

He was in the water...dark and endless and cold. He could hear something; a muffled sound he couldn't quite interpret.   
But then it became clear as his head bobbed up out of the water. Screaming... Much more than just a few people, crying out in fear; maybe pain...  
Then he was under the water again and the screaming muffled into a dull roar.

McGee was suddenly back outside in the driveway, leaning into Tony's car. That's when he felt arms around him and his face was covered in a wet cloth...chloroform; he knew it immediately. But that didn't help him in his struggle...  
When he awoke, he felt himself being beaten. Endless poundings against his torso; he felt the bindings at his wrists dig in with every blow.   
When he cracked open his eyes, he saw a man standing there, grinning like some psycho he was sure he'd seen in a movie before. Seemingly pleased that Tim was awake, the man pulled out a small knife and brought it to his chest.   
A precise incision; short, deep and planned. Then it was over. And with a few quick and aimless slashes across his torso, the man stopped and put the knife down. He picked up a bandage that was laying on a little table beside him and placed it back over the planned incision, securing it down with medical tape.   
That bandage, though, had been there before on that same spot. It was the same one he'd put over his tattoo the night before...  
“What did you do?” he asked the man. But he didn't answer. Instead, he grinned and turned away, leaving McGee alone in the cold, dark room. “You can't just leave me here!” he shouted.  
Tim was rewarded with silence, and he hung his head in defeat. It was several long minutes before he heard anything else. A strange sound came from a far corner of the room. At first, it sounded like escaping air. But it moved closer to him, becoming louder until he realized it was more of a hissing.   
Once he could see the movement as his feet, his eyes widened. He couldn't remember ever having seen such a large snake in all his life. It was thicker around than his leg; longer than two of himself, but that estimate was based on the fact that the rest of it was hidden in the shadows. As it became clear that the creature intended on climbing up his leg, McGee shuddered and kicked, trying to knock it off of him. But he had no such luck.  
The snake wound up an invisible staircase that seemed to climb the entire length of Tim's body, then began coiling tightly around his middle. He could feel the air pressed out of him...he couldn't even scream...

McGee shot straight up from his sleep, breathing hard from the imagery in his nightmare. Just a dream, he told himself before moving up off of the bed and headed for the bathroom.   
He flicked on the light and turned the cold water on in the sink before splashing it over his face a few times. Blindly, he reached out for a towel and dried himself before looking into the mirror. His reflection was grinning...  
“I appreciate your assistance getting into the house,” it said. McGee blinked several time before taking a step back. 

“Wh- who are you?” he asked.

Ignoring his question, it answered, “Wouldn't have been able to get in here without you, what with you having an all-access pass inside.” The reflection blinked, and when it opened its eyes, it revealed eery reptilian pupils. Tim jumped and flung himself back against the wall...


	4. Chapter 4

Ducky and Abby were in the kitchen, talking. Or rather, Ducky was talking and Abby was sitting there, sipping on a Caf-Pow she'd picked up on the way home. Ducky's main goal was to distract her from thoughts of their three friends who'd gone off with Bobby to find Castiel. 

Sam was in the armchair in the living room concentrating partially on the screen of his laptop, and every now and then glancing past it to appraise his older brother who was resting on the couch.  
An unmistakeable thud sounded from upstairs and caused Dean's eyes to fly open. “I got it,” Sam insisted as he abruptly stood and headed up the stairs, taking two at a time. “Tim?” he called out as he entered the guestroom. The bed was empty, and a clanging sound pulled his attention toward the bathroom. “Tim, you okay?” 

As he pushed open the door, he saw McGee cuffing himself to the shower rod. “Go,” he told Sam.

“Dude, what's going on? What're you doing?” Sam asked as he approached him.

“I said get out!” he growled before spinning around catching Sam's arm between his teeth and biting down hard, just below the elbow.  
Sam yelled out against the pain before managing to pull away, hitting the counter and sending various toiletries crashing to the floor. His hand instinctively wrapped around the sore spot on his arm as he met the agent's eyes.   
“I'm sorry,” McGee's face was written in anguish and fear. “You have to get out...all of you...”

“Tim...what happened?” he tried to calm his breathing.

“I can't hold him back much longer. You have to get out.” 

“You can't hold who back?” Sam questioned.

“Jormungand...” McGee's eyes clamped shut before he let out a struggled cry that caused shivers down Sam's back. And when he opened them, the hazel eyes of the agent he'd come to know, had changed into those of a reptile. “Ssssssam,” he whispered as a grin plastered his face.

Sam swallowed and scrambled out of the room, slamming the door before he turned and nearly toppled over his brother. “What the hell is going on, Sam?” Dean asked.

“We don't have time,” he replied as he brushed past him out into the hall.

“Dude?”

“We need Cas here, now! Or we need the damn colt!” he said as he bolted down the stairs, Dean on his tail.

Once at the bottom, Dean grabbed Sam and turned him around to face him. “Are you gonna tell me what the hell just happened or not?” he demanded.

“McGee's possessed.”

“That's not possible,” he replied with a furrowed brow.

“I didn't think so either. But it's true. He's been possessed by Jormungand.”

“Lemme guess; another kid of The Sonofabitch...”

“Yeah.”

“But McGee has the protection tattoo,” they turned at Abby's voice and saw her standing, teary-eyed, in the living room, facing them expectantly. “And this house is supposed to be safe!”

“Whoever took him,” Sam said, “Whatever they did to him, they must've found a way. We don't have much time,” he said as he scrambled for his duffel bag. “Tim cuffed himself to the shower rod, but it won't hold him for long.” He pulled out a can of spray paint. “Dean!” he yelled at his obviously distracted brother. “You need to call them!”

“Okay,” Dean furrowed his brow as he scrambled for his phone, and Sam rushed upstairs.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Abby asked and he looked up at her. Ducky had a hand on her shoulder now.

Dean didn't have a straight answer to give her. “We just gotta get Cas here,” he told her as he held the phone to his ear.

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs, Tony, Ziva and Bobby approached the building Dean had sent them to, when Bobby's phone rang in his pocket. The team came to a halt as he pulled it out and put it to his ear. “What is it, Dean? We're about ready to go in.” Tony sensed the apprehension in Bobby's eyes as he listened to the voice on the other line. “How the hell-” he began, but apparently got cut off by Dean's continued explanation. “Damnit, Dean...what are we supposed to do now?”   
Tony shared a nervous glance with Gibbs before turning back to wait for Bobby to finish the call. “I dunno that that's such a good idea. It's not your average demon; exorcising it will set it right back out there to try it again,” Bobby explained into the phone. Tony was growing more unnerved by the second. “Well I don't damn-well know, Dean! All I can do is send someone back there with it. Hopefully we'll be able to get back there in time. Be careful,” he ended the call.

“What happened?” Gibbs asked him before Tony could.

“Jormungand figured a way into the house,” he explained, vaguely. “The snake-son of Loki. They've got 'im secured for the moment, but they need the colt incase things get outta hand before we can get back with Castiel.”

“I'll go,” Tony said. “I'll take it back to them.”

“No way you're goin' back on your own,” Gibbs said.

“I'll have the colt, boss,” he argued. “And there's no way I'm taking Ziva or Bobby off your six going in there.” Gibbs looked torn with indecision. “Let me do this, Gibbs. I'll be fine, and you guys need to get to Castiel.”

After another long moment, Gibbs reluctantly nodded. Bobby handed the colt over to Tony, “Be careful with that. If it falls into the wrong hands, we're all in trouble.” Tony nodded, then glanced at Ziva, then to Gibbs, before turning to go back to the car. “Let's get this show on the road,” Bobby said as he brushed past the two remaining agents toward the building.

As they followed behind him, Gibbs took out Ruby's knife and held it out, handle facing Ziva. She met his eyes. “I cannot, Gibbs. Last time, I-”

“Yeah, last time, you hesitated. This time, you won't,” he told her. After a moment, she accepted it, and Gibbs shifted the shotgun where it rested on his shoulder.

11 00 11 00 11

Sam finished the devil's trap right outside the guest bathroom door and placed a sheet over it. After having directed Abby and Ducky to go down to the basement and stay, Dean made his way into the guest room. “Bobby's sending someone back with the colt. He says an exorcism won't take care of the problem. We're gonna have to wait till they bring back Cas.”

Sam stood and turned to face him, “Unless things get out of control.” He rubbed at his arm and his stance wavered a bit.

“What's wrong with you?” Dean asked, taking a few steps toward him.

“Nothin',” Sam replied. 

“Nothin', my ass,” Dean grabbed his injured arm and pulled Sam's hand away. “Did he bite you?” he asked, incredulously. 

“It's nothing, Dean. Barely broke the skin.” But just as the words left his mouth, he was sinking to the floor on his knees.

“Sam?” Dean crouched down beside him. “Sammy?” he took his brother's shoulders and realized his breathing was shaking and labored, and he looked at him with confusion in his eyes.   
A loud crash came from the bathroom before the door swung open...

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs motioned with his head for Ziva to enter the doorway into the building. He followed in after her, Bobby at his side, and they scanned each room they passed. They heard Ziva growl before spinning around to see her plunge the knife into the chest of a demon. This time, she wasn't surprised by the flashing out of it's body as she pulled it out and ducked a punch being thrown at her from another.   
She kicked its feet out from under it, sending it crashing to the floor before impaling him with the weapon, making her next kill. Ziva pulled the blade from the dead body beneath her and wiped it clean on its shirt.   
Bobby chanced a glance at Gibbs, “I can see why ya hired her.” Gibbs smirked and held a hand out to help Ziva up; though she didn't require it. 

“How many more do you believe there might be?” Ziva asked him.

“Depends how bad they wanna keep him there,” Bobby replied. “Which is why I suppose I should tell ya...Sam figured out why your agent was kidnapped this mornin'.” Gibbs narrowed his eyes. “Jormungand figured a way into the house...using Tim as a vessel.”

“Are you saying that McGee is possessed?” Ziva's eyes widened.

“An' you sent DiNozzo back with the colt?” Gibbs was outraged.

“As a precaution to keep everyone else in there safe,” Bobby defended. “With all due respect, he could already be dead.” Gibbs' jaw clenched at that. “This is why we need to find Cas, fast. Now let's get a move on, shall we?”

11 00 11 00 11

McGee's possessed body moved forward, tilting his head from side to side, cracking each time, “These human bones,” it said, “Are so damned stiff.” A twisted grin appeared on his face aimed at the older Winchester. 

Dean returned it once he stepped onto the sheet. “Like father, like son,” he told him.

The grin disappeared from the demon's face when he realized what had happened. “Let me out of this.”

“Now why the hell would I do a stupid thing like that?”

“Because,” the grin returned, “You don't want your little, baby brother to die.” It was Dean's turn to lose the amused smirk. “In my true form, he'd already be dead,” Jormungand explained. “But in this,” he glanced down at his vessel, “It works a little slower. But I promise you, it's just as deadly.”

“What do I have to do?” Dean asked through gritted teeth.

“Dean,” Sam protested.

“Set me free,” the demon replied.

“So you can kill everyone in this house? No thanks. I'll pass.”

“I give you my word, no one in this house will be harmed.”

“But you'll go off killing hundreds of other innocent people.”

“Even if that were true, are you ready to sacrifice Sam in order to save them? All those strangers...people you'd never otherwise meet...You'd save them over the most important person to you on this simple plane of existence?”

Sam fought against the searing pain that felt like it was bleeding into every crevice of his body as he watched Dean's mental struggle. Dean met the demon's eyes again, “How will you save him if I let you go?”

“Dean, don't...” Sam managed to choke out.

“It's really quite simple,” the demon told him. “Once I leave here, the power of the venom leaves with me.”

“Don't listen to him, Dean. He's lying,” Sam told him.

“The offer ends when he does,” the demon grinned. “That shouldn't be too much longer from now.”

“You'll have to give us a minute,” Dean scowled before pulling himself up off the floor and moving to help Sam up. Sam let out a pained groan as he straightened, and Dean pulled his brother's arm over his shoulder to help him out. 

As they descended the stairs, Sam began to protest, “No makin' deals, Dean,” he said through gritted teeth; more out of pain than anger. “I'm not gonna let hundreds of people die because we can't hold out for Cas.”

“I'm not gonna let you die, Sammy. We don't even know that they can get Cas out. We've got nothin', here!” he led him to the couch and helped him to lie down on it.

“You can't... let him go, Dean,” Sam's breaths grew more labored. “You let him... go, and this... isn't gonna end... It's not...gonna save me.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” he all but whimpered as sat on the coffee table. Sam groaned and curled into himself, slamming his eyes shut against the pain. “Sam?” he moved to his knees on the floor and put a hand on Sam's shoulder; the other between his cheek and the couch, trying to look at Sam's face. “Sam, talk to me,” he begged. But Sam couldn't reply as he curled even tighter. “What do I do, Sammy? You're supposed to be the smart one, here...tell me what to do!” 

The front door burst open, then, and Tony came rushing in, closing the door behind him. “Dean!” he approached them when he saw the display. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“Where's the colt?” Dean stood, releasing his hold on his brother and rubbing his wet cheek against the shoulder of his sleeve.

“Right here,” Tony pulled it from his jacket and handed it to him. “Where's the...thing?”

“Upstairs,” he said as he brushed past him. 

Tony followed him up the stairs. “What happened to Sam?”

“Sonofabitch bit him. He's gonna die unless I kill it.” Dean walked into the guest room and Tony's face suddenly went pale. 

As he entered the room behind Dean, he watched him as he aimed the gun toward McGee. “No!” he yelled.

“It's not McGee,” Dean said.

“Yes it is!” Tony argued. “It's still him! And if you kill the demon with that gun, you'll kill McGee, too!”

“If I don't...Sam's gonna die...”

“They'll get here in time,” Tony professed. “You just gotta wait...just a little longer. Please...please, Dean, don't kill him,” Tony's voice had tapered to barely a whisper. Dean swallowed; his eyes darting around in the air between himself and the possessed agent in front of him. He'd made a promise to Tony. But that promise meant he could lose his brother...

11 00 11 00 11

Rock-salt shells flung violently across the room, fending back three more demons that had crossed into their path. Gibbs reloaded after having sent two of the creatures into the wall and crumbling to the floor. Bobby had taken the third, and Ziva had made her way toward them with the knife. She took out one of them before the other two were back up on their feet. One came straight for Gibbs. He hit the thing with the butt of his gun before spinning it around and firing off another round.   
While that one fell back, the other lunged for him, knocking him on his back. Before he knew what was happening, the body began to flash out, and he realized that Ziva had stabbed him in the back. She heard Bobby's shotgun fire again and turned to take out the third demon.   
Bobby held a hand out to Gibbs, helping him up off the ground. Then he looked at Ziva, “You want a break from knife-duty, you just let me know.”

“I am fine,” she insisted. “I am rather enjoying this, actually,” she grinned. 

“Glad you're on my side, kid,” he chuckled before they headed further up the hall.

“In here,” they heard Castiel's voice in the distance. After sharing a glance, they headed toward the sound's origin...

11 00 11 00 11

“Let him out,” Dean said, his voice barely a whisper.

“What?” Tony questioned.

“I said let him out. It's the only other way to save Sam,” he told him.

“How?” Tony looked at McGee.

“Scrape open the circle,” he directed him. “Best to use a knife.”

Tony audibly swallowed as he took out his belt knife and approached the trap. Slowly, he crouched down and scraped a small portion of the circle open, then looked up at the demon who was possessing his friend. For a moment, McGee's face was blank; unreadable. But then, without warning, he smiled and raised his arm, flinging Dean hard against the wall, causing him to grunt and drop the colt to the floor.  
Tony scrambled back as Tim stepped forward, grinning at the senior field agent before reaching down and picking him up by the throat. “I can't express the amount of gratitude for convincing him not to kill me,” he said as he pressed him against the wall.

“You have- a funny- way of sh-showing it...” Tony choked out as he unsuccessfully attempted to pull McGee's hand away from his neck.

“I'll show it by killing you quickly,” he snorted. “Unlike what I have planned for the rest of your friends.”

“You sonofabitch!” Dean shouted. “You said you'd leave everyone here alone!”

“You should've listened to your brother, Dean,” he said as he turned his head to look at him. “Demons lie. Why do you think I went through so much trouble to get here?” his grin turned feral as he looked back at Tony. “Now...usually I prefer poisoning my victims. But since I need to make this quick, which would you prefer: broken neck,” he tightened his grip, “Or I could just...rip your heart out. I am famished.”   
Decidedly, the demon made the choice on his own. He released his hold on Tony's neck and pinned him to the wall with an invisible force. As Tony sucked in the much needed air, the demon reached forward toward his chest, digging his fingertips at the place over his heart. Tony yelled out against the pain.

“Leave him alone!” Dean shouted.

“Wait your turn!” Jormugand replied impatiently.

“McGee...” Tony begged. “Tim, I know you're in there,” he said between labored breaths. “You can fight him...”

“Your friend can try all he wants,” he replied, “But he is no longer in control.” As he pressed his fingers deeper, Tony growled deep in his throat against the pain.

Suddenly, Castiel was in the room; hands grabbing for the demon-possessed agent and swinging him away from Tony. Startled, Jormungand simply fell to the floor on his back.   
“About damn time, Cas!” Dean said as he looked over at Tony who was still pinned only a few feet away from him on the wall. Castiel didn't reply, and the room was suddenly filled with a light that caused the two subdued men to slam their eyes closed against it. All they could hear was McGee... screaming...


	5. Chapter 5

The only way they knew it was over was from the feeling of their bodies falling to the floor. When they opened their eyes, they noticed right away that Castiel was no longer in the room.  
Tony, however, was more concerned about McGee who was lying on the floor, motionless. He crawled to the younger agent. Tony's hand was shaking as he reached out to check for a pulse on his unconscious friend. Once he found it going strong, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

“He okay?” Dean asked as he stood. Tony nodded, glancing back at him. “How about you?”

“I'm fine.” Tony looked back down at Tim.

“Where the hell is Cas?” he asked no one in particular as he headed out of the room and down the stairs. “Cas come down here?” he asked Bobby and Gibbs.

“Haven't seen him since he brought us back here,” Bobby said where he was sitting in front of Sam. “Sam got bit, didn't he?” he asked as he watched the kid continue to squirm. He didn't require an answer. “What happened up there? I take it Cas took care of the problem?”

“Yeah, but he's gone,” Dean told him as he approached the couch. “Did somethin' to McGee and the room filled with light and when we opened our eyes, Cas was MIA.”

“Tony's upstairs with McGee?” Gibbs asked. Dean nodded. “Where's Ducky and Abby?”

“The basement. Told 'em to stay there no matter what they heard, until we came to get them.”

“Well go get 'em. Have Duck look at your brother,” Gibbs said as he made his way up the stairs.  
~   
“C'mon, McGee, you gotta wake up,” he heard Tony's voice before he even entered the room. 

As he entered, he saw Tony kneeling on the floor, hovering over McGee's unconscious form. After a brief appraisal of the wrecked room, he approached his agents, crouching down beside Tony. “You okay?” he asked, immediately noticing the bruising forming around his neck.

“He hasn't woken up yet, boss,” he replied, clearly dodging the question. “We should put him on the bed. He can't be comfortable like this.”

As Tony straightened up a bit, Gibbs noticed the blood on his shirt, and he grabbed his arm before he could try to hide it. “What happened? You're bleeding.”

“I'm fine,” Tony insisted, only meeting Gibbs' eyes for a moment before turning his attention back to the youngest agent. “I shouldn't have left him...I shoulda had his six...”

“This isn't your fault, DiNozzo.”

“Shouldn't have asked him to grab my phone. He could've gotten back to the house faster...None of this would've happened.”

“A woulda, shoulda, and a coulda, all in one,” he cocked his head. Tony gave him an incredulous look. “You didn't know, Tony. You can't take the blame on this one.”

“But that's just it,” he looked back at his boss. “We don't know. How am I supposed to keep any of you safe when I don't have the slightest idea what we're dealing with?”

“It's not your job to keep everyone safe.”

“It's part of it!” the guilt in Tony's eyes kept Gibbs' from responding right away. “This is the only real family I've ever had, boss. I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit back and accept that I can't do everything in my power to protect you.”

“And you've done that,” he finally found his voice. 

“If you hadn't brought Castiel back, he'd be dead. We would've had to use the colt.”

“But you stopped that, didn't you,” it wasn't a question. 

“And almost got us all killed because of it,” he told him. “Castiel formed this...this army. But the General keeps going awol and his newest recruits, namely me, keep screwing the pooch,” his laugh was anything but out of humor. 

“Just because you had a front row seat, doesn't make it any less fault of the rest of us,” Gibbs said, uncharacteristically soft. “We're all in this together; not just you, Tony. Just as much my responsibility to watch out for McGee. We were all here when he was taken. None of us saw this coming. But he's okay, and that's what matters right now.” 

Tony's eyes darted around in the air as he considered Gibbs' words. After a long moment, Tony nodded in acceptance. “I'm gonna go see if Duck's done lookin' Sam over, then send him up here to check on the two of you.”

“Wait,” Tony watched him as he stood, “Sam's still sick? He was supposed to be fine once the thing was destroyed.” 

“Not really sure what's happening, Tony, but I'll let you know 'soon as I find out.”

11 00 11 00 11

Dean had managed to get Sam in an upright position on the couch with the help of him sitting beside him and holding him there. After Bobby had used the EMF to confirm that the demonic venom had, indeed, left his system, Ducky had proceeded to examine the younger Winchester.  
“Though the poison presumably has left his system,” Ducky explained, “Sam will undoubtedly be suffering a fair amount of pain and discomfort due to tissue breakdown and disintegration the venom most likely caused. At this point, all we can do is try and make him as comfortable as possible. I happen to have a variety of pain medications that they'd use, just the same, in a hospital setting. And seeing as there's a possibility that sending him there could cause more harm than good, we should take our own course of action unless it becomes necessary to do otherwise. At least until Castiel decides to return.”

Gibbs was slightly surprised at Ducky's suggestion to keep the boy home, but he understood the implications. Dean seemed concerned, however, that no matter what they decided, he was out of control in any of it. “What do I do?” he asked.

“For now, help him to the guest room here on this floor; he's in no condition to use the hammock tonight. I'll prepare an injection of pain medication. Though, I'd like for him to have someone in the room with him during the night.”

“I can do that,” Dean said. 

“Jethro, could you assist Dean in getting the young lad to the bedroom?” 

Gibbs nodded and moved to help. “When you're done giving him the meds, you should head upstairs. McGee's unconscious and DiNozzo has some wounds that need tending to.”

“What happened?” Ducky asked as he observed the two men help Sam to stand and begin the trek down the hall.

“Has some bruising on his neck,” Gibbs explained. “And some kinda open wound on his chest.”

“The demon was choking him,” Dean told them. “Then he tried to rip his heart out.” The casual tone to the statement seemed almost depressing. Gibbs surmised that this wasn't the first time he'd witnessed such wounds.  
As Gibbs helped lower Sam into the bed, Sam began to whimper in his half-conscious state. Dean immediately slipped into the bed, pulling his younger brother almost into his lap as he sat back against he headboard, “It's okay, Sammy. I've got you. It's gonna be okay,” he attempted to comfort him. Gibbs recognized more of a fatherly role Dean played for his little brother, which indicated to him, being the great investigator that he was, that this kid had been more than just a big brother as they were growing up.   
For being almost six and a half feet tall, Sam looked small and childlike as he curled into a ball beside his older brother; his arms enveloped around his middle and his face buried into Dean's side. If Gibbs wasn't there in the room, he was sure the older Winchester might be giving in to the tears he could see forming in his eyes.

“Want me to get you anything?” Gibbs asked. Dean considered him for a moment, then shook his head. 

Bobby brushed past him into the room, then. “Just got off the phone with an ol' buddy of mine,” he told Dean. “Apparently, he'd come across a venom-type demon a few years back; one whose poison dissipated once the demon was taken care of. He says Sam's in for a world a' hurt for the next few days, if this is anything like what he went through.”

“Sonofabitch,” Dean said under his breath. “Where the hell is Cas...”

“One other thing,” Bobby said as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“There's more?” Dean gave him an incredulous look.

“Don't shoot the messenger, Dean,” he raised his brows. “He says he had some pretty intense nightmares while recovering. And when he was awake, some pretty realistic hallucinations. Almost shot his partner during one of 'em.”

“So what do we do? Keep him sedated?” Dean seemed worried at the idea.

“Better to keep everyone else safe...and you know Sam would never forgive himself if he hurt you, or worse.”

“Here we are,” Ducky said as he entered the room with a small kit. “Pain medicine and a light sedative, as Mr. Singer said might be necessary.”

“I told ya, Doc,” Bobby said as the older man sat beside Sam to get to work, “If I'm callin' you Ducky, you gotta call me Bobby like everyone else. Mr. Singer was my father, anyway.”

“Yes, well,” Ducky gave a light chuckle, “Perhaps we can compromise and I can call you Robert.”

“Do I look like a Robert to you?” he asked with an incredulous look on his face.

“Makes ya sound distinguished,” Dean managed a smirk.

“That's my damn point, ya chucklehead,” he replied.

After Ducky injected the medications, they watched as Sam's body began to slowly relax. With Bobby's help, Dean managed to get Sam into a more comfortable position and lay him down flat on the bed, propping his head a bit with a couple of pillows. “Your buddy tell you anything else?” Dean asked.

“Just 'good luck'. Apparently we'll need it.”

“What we need is Cas's ass the hell back here,” Dean frowned...

11 00 11 00 11

“Thank you for your assistance in bringing back Jormungand, Castiel,” a cloaked figure told the drained angel. “I apologize that he caused such havoc in your world. I can only assure you that he will not be able to return.”

“See to it that you keep that promise,” Castiel replied. “If he does return again, I will not be so generous.”

“We understand. It is why we have not taken any action for reprimand after learning of the deaths of Loki and Fenrir.”

“Do you know who freed them?” 

“No. And we do not know how it was done, either. Therefore, it is beyond our abilities to prevent further summonings.”

“How is this possible? That you can't keep your prisoners contained or take preventative measures...? Why will you not just execute them, yourselves?”

“It is not allowed.”

“But you'll allow someone else to do your dirty work, and at the expense of innocent lives?” the angel argued. 

Silence told Castiel that the man wouldn't answer. But he stood his ground, refusing to back down from his argument. The cloaked figure seemed to grow impatient. “Perhaps you should leave, now.”

“I can't leave,” he replied. “My journey here, in combination with transporting your prisoner, took much power and I must wait until I have the ability to return home.”

“Then you must rest in the home of my mother,” he told him. “Come, Castiel. You will be treated well.”

11 00 11 00 11

Ducky handed Gibbs the appropriate items to clean and bandage Tony's chest wound and moved toward the bed where McGee now lay, still unconscious. As the lead agent washed the blood from the wound with a white cloth, Tony focused his attention to the younger agent in the bed. “You think whatever Castiel did to him could've fried something in his brain?” he asked. The suggestion would've been humorous if it wasn't a distinct possibility.

“I'm sure that Timothy will be just fine,” Ducky said as he checked Tim's pupils. “He seems to simply be unconscious. Perhaps the situation was simply a bit overwhelming for him. Of course, without an MRI machine, we can't be completely certain.”

“But he's not in any danger of...ya know...dying, is he?” Tony asked.

“His heart-rate seems to be slightly elevated, but it's strong and steady,” Ducky said as he felt Tim's pulse. “Breathing seems to be normal. I'd like to check on him throughout the night, in case any of that should change. But no, Anthony. I don't believe he's in danger of leaving us anytime soon.”

Tony nodded in acknowledgment and seemed to become suddenly aware of Gibbs taping the bandage over his wound. “Thanks, boss. I uh...I'm gonna stay in here tonight; keep an eye on McGee. I'm supposed to be bunking with him anyway... Guess I'll clean up this mess...” his eyes darted around the room before he moved to stand.

“Hey,” Gibbs grabbed his shoulder and stood as well, “I'll take care of this. You go downstairs with Duck; have somethin' to eat an' drink.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he interrupted. “I won't leave him alone. When you're done, come up here and take over.” After a long moment of inner-battle, Tony nodded in resignation and followed Ducky out of the room.

11 00 11 00 11

“Jormungand was able to cross into protected ground using the vessel of one of the men I'm trying to protect,” Castiel explained to the old woman who served him tea. She was an ordinary-looking woman; somewhat classical, like an ancient piece of art from centuries ago. Her home matched her in every way.

“Loki always did have a knack for finding loopholes,” she told him. “Always so clever,” her eyes showed a hint of sadness as she spoke, “But not clever enough, it seems.”

“Mother...” the cloaked figure spoke from the doorway.

“Vali, don't interrupt. It's rude,” she scolded, then took a seat across from Castiel and picked up her teacup. 

Castiel furrowed his brow as he came to a realization. “You are Sigyn,” he said. She smiled at him. “Loki's wife. And you,” he turned to Vali, “Were summoned, along with your brother, to retrieve Fenrir's entrails.”

“They were sent, Castiel,” Sigyn replied for him. “They were trying to stop Fenrir's rising. Unfortunately, old habits die hard, don't they, Vali?” she scowled to her son. “Couldn't stop fighting after all these years...even after we'd been so blessed to finally get the both of you back.” She looked back at the angel. “He killed Narvi after they'd been captured by my husband's minions and thrown into a cell.” She turned a glare back toward her son, “You're lucky to have been rescued and returned!”

“You wanted to stop Fenrir, but not Loki?” Castiel questioned.

Her gaze fell back on him, “My husband wasn't a good man, Castiel. But I loved him. The children he bore with that...whore; they couldn't be allowed to rise. Unfortunately, we couldn't stop any of it.”

“Aren't you angry about your husband's death?”

“If the choices were laid that he would die or be returned to his imprisonment here, then I'm sure he would be satisfied by the outcome. As he would've said,” she grinned, “At least he went out having a little fun.” Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Oh please,” she swatted the air, “Spare me the righteous-morality speech. What's done is done. He's paid for his crimes. In the meantime, perhaps we can help you with your protection problem.”

“The only way to truly protect your grounds from the likes of those conjured from this place,” Vali told him, “Is to use something from its source; from its homeland...”


	6. Chapter 6

Tony sat at the kitchen table, lost in thought and absentmindedly rubbing the ache in his neck. He was only vaguely aware of what Ducky was doing; preparing him something to eat, no doubt. But he wasn't hungry. Not in the least. In fact, if he were to physically write down a list of all the things he was in that moment, 'hungry' would be at the very bottom of it.

Something suddenly dawned on him in that moment. “Hey, Ducky?” 

“Yes, Anthony?” Ducky turned to look at him.

“Where are the girls?” his voice was small as his heart clenched at the thought that they might have vanished in the same way McGee had.

“Ah,” Ducky turned back to his preparations. “They're down in the basement. When Dean came to fetch us, Abigail refused to leave the cot. Ziva decided to try and convince her to come up.”

“Maybe it's safer down there,” Tony said as he looked down at the table top. “Look, Ducky...I'm not hungry at all. Not even a little bit. Could I maybe just take a couple bottles of water upstairs with me?”

“I can't force you to eat,” he replied. “I suppose I'll put this sandwich in the fridge in case you're hungry later on.”

“Thanks,” he replied before going to the fridge to grab the water. 

“Do try and at least get some sleep,” he suggested. Tony simply replied with a small smile before heading out of the kitchen and up the stairs.  
When he reached the doorway to the bedroom, Gibbs was crouched down on the floor by the devil's trap, examining the scraped open part of the circle. The rest of the room seemed to have been picked up, for the most part. 

“Doesn't seem like you were down there long enough to eat,” Gibbs said before looking back at Tony.

“Turns out I'm not very hungry,” Tony smirked as he entered the room and set the water bottles down on the side table. “Ya know Abby won't come up from the basement?” Gibbs looked at him again with narrowed eyes. “She's scared, I'm sure. Has every reason to be.” He took a couple steadying breaths through his nose. “I'm the one who broke that trap,” he told him. “I let him out...and he was gonna kill all of us,” his voice cracked. “I thought I was saving him,” he said as he quickly threw on his game-face; a smile and a short, carefree burst of laughter, using his best undercover skills to hide his pain. “But even if he had left us alone, he still woulda walked outta here in McGee's body. We'd be out looking for him all over again, and who knows what would've happened in the meantime before we could get that thing out of him.”

“Tony-”

“I know, boss. Really, I do,” he insisted, his face becoming serious again. “You should talk to Abby. You always know how to make her feel better.”

Gibbs stood and made his way to stand in front of him. “Wish I could do the same for you,” he told him. “Your father sure did a number on you,” he said in barely a whisper, and Tony gave him a questioning look. “Have you ever listened to or believed me when I told you it wasn't your fault?”

After a long moment of consideration, Tony met his eyes again. “I tried to...”

Gibbs shook his head. “Get some rest, Tony.”

11 00 11 00 11

“Hey, Ducky,” Bobby said as he made his way into the kitchen. “Care to join me in a drink?” he held up a half-empty bottle of whiskey before setting it on the counter to fetch a glass.

The doctor let out a small chuckle before making his way to the table. “I just made myself a cup of tea, good man. But I'd be more than happy to sit here with you while you have one.”

“Good,” he said as he poured a shot into the glass. “Means I'm technically not drinkin' alone.” He moved to the table and sat across from Ducky. “How're the boys upstairs? Haven't had a chance to go see the damage. Not sure it's my place to butt in.”

“Timothy is still unconscious, but seems to be physically unharmed otherwise. Anthony, on the other hand,” he sighed, “He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, that one. He finds a way to blame himself. Perhaps subconsciously he's been conditioned to take the blame whenever someone gets hurt. Unfortunately, there's very little any of us can say to make him believe otherwise.”

“Sounds familiar,” Bobby said, wincing after taking a long pull from his glass. 

“Yes, I've quite come to realize, in the short time we've had the pleasure of knowing them, that the Winchesters seem to portray similar malfunctions to the personality. Although, something tells me that theirs stems from a lot of things I'd find difficult to understand.”

Bobby snorted. “Some things, Doc, you're better off not understanding.”

“For once, Bobby, I'll wholeheartedly agree to that statement,” he grinned before sipping his tea. “Tell me something. Now that this snake-demon thing is gone, is this house once again safe?”

“Jormungand got in here via loophole. For the time being, I think we're good, far as demons go. Now we just gotta lick our wounds until Castiel gets back.”

*~.~*

“Gibbs, thank goodness,” Ziva said as he descended into the basement. “Is everyone okay? I did not want to leave Abby down here alone.”

Gibbs made his way to the girls. Abby was sitting up on Bobby's cot, her knees pulled to her chest, arms hugging them close as she gently rocked back and forth. Ziva had undoubtedly been sitting beside her this whole time, trying to convince her to come upstairs with her.  
“McGee's unconscious, but Duck says he's okay otherwise. Tony's up there with him. Sam isn't well. Venom did a number on him, so he'll be in pain for a while. At least until Castiel returns.”

“He has gone missing again?” Ziva's brows went up.

“They think he returned the demon to wherever it came from and it might take a while to get back.”

“Are we safe?” Abby asked in a small voice.

Gibbs sank down beside her on the cot and pulled her from her position to hold her. “Yeah, Abs. We're safe right now.”

“To think McGee had that thing inside of him this whole time,” she sniffled as she clung to Gibbs. “After what happened to Tony when he was possessed...I thought Timmy would end up dead. I just don't understand it, Gibbs! He had a protection tattoo! Does this mean all of us are in danger?”

“I don't have the answer to that. But I do know that, right now, we're safe here,” he kissed her forehead. “We just need to wait it out. We'll have answers when Castiel come back...”

11 00 11 00 11

Castiel had set off on a journey, by foot of course, with Vali. Their mission was to obtain items from several of the nine worlds. “Each item must be bound together and placed on all corners of your grounds,” Vali explained. “The first is here in Asgard; dust of Loki's imprisonment chamber. Mother will tend to that. She doesn't allow me down there. Next, we must retrieve rock-ice from Niflheim. It will not melt... Once bound with the other items and placed, it will complete the protective barrier. All from this world that cross into yours will know and see it clearly. They will not attempt to break it.”

“I can't keep them there on protected grounds at all times,” Castiel told him. “What symbol should they wear to keep them from being possessed again?”

Vali cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Your symbols are sufficient. Chances are that someone broke it to gain access. And since it is beyond our capabilities to touch the symbol itself, there must be a human who has joined forces to assist in this summoning.”

Castiel's focus shifted away in consideration. “During my captivity, there was a human girl who lit the holy fire around me. Perhaps she is the one who we have been searching for.”

“Perhaps,” Vali agreed. “But Mother senses there is more than one entity in this; more than just a human. Perhaps there are several, and they are assisting whatever demon has decided to begin this carnage.”

“It's good, then, that the grounds are protected from all but those I'm protecting. Even other humans. This is why they decided to capture one of my own instead of sending another human vessel.” He pondered for another moment. “We must hurry. Tell me what else we need...”

11 00 11 00 11

“No no no no! Stop it!” he screamed as he watched his hand squeeze around Tony's throat. “Leave him alone!”  
But the demon wouldn't listen. His grip loosened and hovered grimly before Tony's chest before thrusting forward. Tony screamed...

“McGee...” he begged, “Tim, I know you're in there. You can fight this...”

“I'm trying...I'm trying, Tony, but I can't,” he cried. “I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...oh god...”

“McGee!” he heard Tony's voice louder now, more urgent. “McGee, come on; wake up!”

“Tony?” he opened his eyes to see the older agent hovering over him. “You're alive...”

“Yeah, Probie,” he flashed him a smile. “Didn't think you could get rid of me that easily, did ya?” he moved a bit to allow McGee to sit up. “You okay?”

That's when Tim saw the bruising around his friend's neck. “God...I hurt you, Tony,” he swallowed. “I'm sorry...” his eyes shone with guilt-filled tears.

“You didn't do this, Tim,” he put a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn't you in control.”

“I was, for a while,” he said. “I should've been able to fight it... I'm so sorry...” 

Tony couldn't bear the pain in Tim's voice and the tears that fell down the kid's cheeks now. He pulled him into a hug, “It's me who's sorry,” he told him. “I should've kept you safe. We're supposed to have each other's backs, and I sent you out there alone.”

McGee was suddenly pulling away, “It wasn't a demon that took me, Tony,” he said, pushing himself off of the bed.

“What're you talkin' about?”

“They were people,” he explained as he shed his tee shirt. “They did something to break the protection symbol,” he ripped off the bandage on his chest.

Tony stood and made his way around the bed to look at the damage, “Jesus...” he looked at the gash that tore through the bottom half of the tattoo. “We should go downstairs and see if Ducky's still up. He should look at that.”

“Tony, is anyone else...I mean, is everyone else okay?” he asked in a small voice. “I remember biting Sam...”

“He's uh...the venom is out of his system. He's sick, but he's gonna be okay. We're just waiting for Castiel to return.”

“Castiel left again?” McGee furrowed his brow. “For how long?”

“Not sure. When he went missing the first time, he'd been captured; most likely so they could do what they did to you. This time, though, he disappeared after ripping that snake-demon outta you. So, he's coming back. We just don't know how long it'll be till he does.”

McGee watched as Tony's focus grew distant. “Tony, you know this isn't your fault, right?”

“It was a rookie mistake to let you go out there alone, McGee,” he said; his eyes never leaving the spot on the wall he'd decided to focus on.

“I'm the one who decided to go out. And Ziva had been out running alone. There was no reason to think I wouldn't be safe going out to my car. They were waiting for me. For whatever reason, I don't know. Maybe because Loki had possessed me before and they knew I'd offer up the least resistance...”

“Tim-”

“Well, it's true! They sent people to capture me. If you'd have been out there with me, they just would've waited until they had the next chance. This isn't your fault.”

“And it's not yours, either,” he met his eyes, finally. “So...we've learned to establish the buddy system, out of all this. Guess that'll have to do, till we hear otherwise from Castiel.”

Tim glanced at the clock. “Geez, it's after three in the morning...No way Ducky's awake.”

“Then he can look at it tomorrow,” he replied. “I'll root around in the bathroom and see if I can find something to put on it until then,” he headed for the bathroom. “Then, you should probably try and get back to sleep.” 

“Are you uh...I mean...where are you gonna sleep?” Tim stumbled over his words.

“Well, I was gonna stay in here,” he said as he walked back into the room with a fresh bandage. “Was sorta sleepin' in the chair a little while ago.”

“Sort of?”

Tony busied himself with applying the bandage, “Well, yeah, Probie. You were basically angel-zapped into unconsciousness. Had to make sure you weren't gonna die or somethin' in your sleep.”

“Oh,” he replied as Tony finished with the bandage and moved back to the chair. “Thanks...”

“No problem,” he grinned. “Now, get some sleep, McGoo. If you're a good little probie, I'll make you waffles in the morning.”

“I didn't see waffles in the freezer?” he furrowed a humored brow as he sat down on the bed.

“Not those blasphemous things,” Tony scoffed. “I've got everything I need to make 'em from scratch.”

“Including the waffle maker?”

Tony narrowed his eyes in thought, “Yeah Gibbs probably doesn't have one of those, huh?” he pursed his lips. “Oh well....pancakes, it is.”

11 00 11 00 11

It was almost four in the morning. Dean hadn't yet even attempted to sleep. Instead, he'd been on Sam's laptop looking for anything he could find on what damage could be caused by venom. The list didn't provide him any comfort...  
His attention was pulled from the screen when his eyes caught movement on the bed in front of him. Sam was rolling onto his back; limbs stiffened; breath suddenly labored as he returned to semi-consciousness.  
Dean was out of his chair and at Sam's side in a heartbeat. “Sam?” he laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Dean...” his eyes shot open and haphazardly focused on his brother. “Dean, what- what's happening to me? What happened to me?” he rolled back onto his side and curled into himself again. “God it hurts...”

“It's gonna be okay. Just need more painkillers,” Dean picked up the kit from the nightstand. 

“Gonna...be sick...” he rolled quickly from the bed and sprinted out of the room to the bathroom. By the time Dean caught up to him, Sam was heaving into the toilet; nothing but stomach acid. Then he was simply dry-heaving. Exhausted from the efforts through the pain, Sam fell against the wall, supporting himself to remain standing. 

“You okay, Sam?” Dean asked as he handed him a small cup of water to wash the taste out of his mouth. Sam didn't reply, but took the cup, swished some of the water around his mouth and spit into the toilet before reaching to flush it. The movement made the room spin, and Dean found himself catching Sam before he collapsed to the floor. “Whoa, Sammy,” he guided him to sit down on the cool tiles before sitting at his side. “I'm gonna give you a shot of somethin' that'll help you feel better, okay?” Sam nodded almost imperceptibly and Dean proceeded to give him the dose of medication as Ducky had earlier directed. 

Tucking the equipment back into its little case, he set it down on the floor beside him and put an arm around Sam's shoulders. The younger brother, already hugging his knees to his chest, laid his head on his brother's shoulder. “This...really sucks, Dean,” he said through short, pained breaths.

“I know, kiddo,” he bent the arm around Sam's shoulder to scruff his hair. “Meds should kick in soon. Just lemme know when you feel up to gettin' back to bed.” After a few moments, a tremor ran through Sam's body. Dean felt it; the tremor turning into a consistent shivering. “Sam?”

“I'm...cold...” he took in a shaky breath. 

“C'mon, Sammy,” he moved to stand. “Let's get you back to the room.” He helped his brother to stand.

“Wanna go home, Dean,” he said. His eyes closed as he was led toward the room.

“This is kinda the closest thing we've got to a home, Sam,” he told him as he helped him into bed. 

“'M cold,” he repeated.

“I know. I'm sorry, Sammy, I'm tryin' to help,” he pulled the blankets back and moved Sam to lie down; pulling the covers back up over him and tucking him in. The tremors only seemed to grow more violent as he twisted himself onto his side and drew the blankets even closer against himself. Frustrated, and clearly afraid for his brother's well-being, Dean felt Sam's forehead in search for fever and found none. “I don't know what to do,” he said, perhaps to himself.   
He rubbed a hand roughly up and down Sam's arm in attempt to accelerate the warming process, but decidedly laid down in front of him, instead; putting warming arms around his back.   
Dean remembered when they were still just kids. Sam had gotta sick at school and Dean had walked him home, as their father was away. It was the middle of January and it was freezing; at least three feet of snow on the ground. By the time they got back to their hotel, Sam was shivering like mad.

“I'm c-cold, Dean.”

“Okay, Sammy. Let's get you into some dry clothes and under the covers.”

“W-when's D-dad gonna g-g-get home?”

“Not 'til tomorrow. C'mon,” he led him to the the bedroom, helped him change into his favorite army-men pajamas, and tucked him into bed.

“My stomach hurts...Can y-you stay and help me g-get warm, Dean?”

“Sure, kiddo,” he climbed in beside him and pulled him into a hug until the shivering stopped. It was probably only a couple more minutes until Sam was fast asleep...

Now, the memory seemed like only yesterday as Sam's head was tucked snuggly under Dean's chin, and Dean rubbed his back over the covers, just as he had done all those years ago. And just like that day, Sam's tremors slowly faded and he was soon back to sleep.  
Knowing his little brother was okay, at least for now, allowed Dean to feel the pulls of sleep weighing himself down. It was a matter of minutes before he, too, succumbed to blissful unconsciousness...


	7. Chapter 7

After quietly fixing the shower curtain rod to the best of his ability for the time being, Tony took a quick shower, then dressed after putting on a dry bandage over his chest wound. By the time he walked out of the bathroom, McGee was just waking up. “Morning, Probie,” he said with a small smile. “How're ya feelin'?”

“Not bad,” he replied with a yawn as he stretched and got up out of bed. “How about you?”

“Hungry. You wanna hit the shower before breakfast, or do it after?”

“I'm dying for a shower,” he said as he rummaged through his overnight bag for a change of clothes. “Ya know, I'm either gonna have to do laundry today or go get more clothes from my apartment.”

“We'll figure that out later,” Tony replied a bit nervously. “Go get your shower and I'll see if Ducky's awake so he can look at that gash before you get your shirt on.”

Tim nodded as he headed to the bathroom and Tony waited until the water was running before heading out and down the stairs. Abby, Ducky and Bobby were at the kitchen table drinking coffee and talking in a hushed tone.   
“Morning, guys,” Tony kept his voice down as well as he greeted them with a small smile.

“Tony,” Abby stood and gave him a big hug. 

“Ompf! Easy, Abs...A little sore,” he said as he gently returned the hug.

“Oh! I'm sorry,” she pulled away and caught sight of the bruising. “Ohmygosh...what-”

“It's nothin'. Looks worse than it feels. Really,” he replied, then looked over at Ducky. “McGee woke up for a bit around three this morning. He's got a nasty gash. Those bastards that took him cut through his protection tat,” he told him. “Guess it got overlooked; but that's how he was able to be possessed.”

“Oh dear,” Ducky replied, setting his mug down. “Is he sleeping now?”

“Nah, he went back to sleep shortly after we had a little talk, but he's up now. Takin' a shower. Thought I'd have you take a look at his wound in case it's infected or something.”

“I most certainly will,” he replied as he stood and made his way out toward the stairs.

“Everyone else still asleep?” Tony asked as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Gibbs went with Ziva for a run,” Abby told him as she sat back down.

“How long ago?” Tony turned with a furrowed brow.

“Not long,” Bobby replied for her, “Maybe half an hour. Don't worry. They brought a few things for protection in case they need it.”

“Why didn't you go with them?” he asked.

“I look like a jogger to you, son?” Bobby gave him an incredulous look.

Tony smirked at that, then turned to finish preparing his coffee. “So uh...how's Sam doing?”

“Peeked into the room a little bit ago,” Bobby replied. “They're both still sleepin'. Gibbs found Ducky's kit with the pain meds in the bathroom, so I'm guessin' Sam probably had a rough night.”

Tony made his way to the table and sat where Ducky had been a little while ago. “Still no sign of Cas, I take it?” Bobby shook his head. “Well...good thing it's Saturday. I'd hate to have to be the one to come up with the story for Vance on how the hell we got these battle scars... Anyone hungry? I promised McGoo pancakes.”

11 00 11 00 11

The fact that neither of them required sleep, assisted a great deal in Castiel and Vali's journey from Niflheim after they retrieved the ice. “The next stop will be Muspellheim,” Vali told him. There, they would collect sulfur from the fire world, as Vali had explained to the angel earlier.  
Normally, Castiel was a rather patient being. Coupled with the fact that he needed to wait for his energy to return to him anyway, he couldn't really do anything about it. But it would've been nice to simply be able to transport between the worlds.  
Sure, Vali knew shortcuts; bridges that allowed for faster travel. Hell...the kid was a god. Technically, he could zap them where they needed to go. But he was a god in hiding; zapping around would draw attention to himself and end him up in the same prisons of his hated half-brothers and sister. He'd killed twice now. Same victim, but killed, nonetheless. A crime punishable to its fullest extent, before death of course.  
So they both continued their hike, neither able to complain. Castiel was at least grateful that Vali was willing to lead the way. But his thoughts, for lack of anything better to think about, lay with the people he left back home.  
The more he thought about it, the more he wished he'd done things a bit differently. He'd seen Sam before going up the stairs to take Jormungand. Surely he could've healed Sam before he'd gone up. But in that same light, a few moments longer and Tony's heart could've been ripped from his chest. There wouldn't have been time to heal them both and take the demon back to its prison.  
He should've just killed Jormungand. That was the only answer, really. But even that wouldn't have been the right answer. They'd still be in danger, and he wouldn't have been able to protect them from these demon-gods, had he not come here and met with Vali and his mother.   
So, he had answers. And he had more questions. And his people were home, suffering, awaiting his return. They had no answers. He knew how it felt to be a soldier following orders and commands blindly, without being given explanations or reasoning. It was frustrating and confusing. And they didn't have nearly the amount of patience as he.   
“For an angel,” Vali interrupted his thoughts, “You think too much.”

“You've met other angels?” Castiel narrowed his eyes in question.

“I have heard many stories; as much as you have heard of us. What has you so preoccupied that you have become silent?” 

“I'm usually silent. As Dean would say, silence is golden. But I usually find solitude in my thoughts.”

“But not now?”

Castiel glanced at him again. “No.”

“You are worried for your people,” he guessed.

“I am...concerned. Their loyalty to me has caused them suffering, and I'm not there to offer them relief or reassurance.”

Vali was quiet for a few long moments as he pondered. Then he looked to the angel, “You are...different from many of the stories I have heard, Castiel.”

“How so?” he questioned.

“So many of your brothers and sisters carry reputations of loyalties to one or the other of choices. Many to your father...and some to themselves. Those who are loyal to your father tend to His desires toward humankind; caring for them because it is His will. Even if they do not agree. You, however, carry both loyalty to your father and genuinely care about His people. You must harbor some level of contentedness in this fact?”

“I don't require to be content,” Castiel replied flatly. “It's always been my father's will that we love his people as He loves them. If anything, it is more...depressing to know that not all of my brothers and sisters feel the same way.”

“Your brother was cast down for expressing his feelings in the matter. Why not the others?”

“Lucifer's expressions also implicated him for disobedient,” Castiel explained. “Our father knew that Lucifer's desires would ultimately lead to hatred and rebellion. The others...well, they follow our father out of love, respect and fear. Though, lately, I fear that He has delegated responsibilities to those who do not carry the same loyalties as Him.”

“Delegated responsibilities? Does He even require that?” Vali questioned.

“I don't believe so.”

“Then...why?”

“I don't know.”

“Why do you not ask Him?”

“I...cannot do that. I've never even seen Him,” he looked forward at their path.

“Ah...one of those.”

“What?” Castiel glanced at him again.

“I am, unfortunately, well aware of fathers who do not...make appearances to their sons.”

“It's not like that,” Castiel looked back down the path. “I don't expect you to understand.”

“Oh, but I understand,” he retorted. “Make all the excuses for your father that you wish, but I do understand.”  
Castiel's gaze fell lower toward the ground he stepped on. He wouldn't discuss it further with Vali. After all, the kid was wrong... and they had other things to worry about...

11 00 11 00 11

Dean slipped back into consciousness when he felt movement in front of him. “Sam?” he pulled back as his little brother untangled himself from the blankets. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I'm just...what happened? I remember being sick last night, but how did we end up...snuggling?”

“Hey, you were freezing,” Dean defended. “And we were not snuggling. I was tryin' to help you get warm and I fell asleep,” he said as they both got out of bed. “So...you really feeling okay?”

“For the most part, yeah,” Sam replied. “What about you? How's your head?”

“Other than where it hit the wall last night, fine. Hey...do you smell waffles?” his brows rose.

Sam smirked, “Go on. I'm gonna brush my teeth first. My mouth tastes like...well, I won't say, since you're about to eat.”

11 00 11 00 11

“Oh wow,” McGee said as he walked into the kitchen to see Tony hard at work filling everyone's plates with waffles.

“Gibbs actually had a waffle maker!” Tony grinned as he handed Tim a plate and plopped a couple of them onto it. 

“No kidding...” Tim smirked. The table was full; each seat taken now that Sam and Dean had joined them.

“I'm finished, Timothy,” Ducky said as he stood with his empty plate. “You may have my seat and I'll take my leave in the living room to digest.”

“I'll join ya,” Bobby said as he cleared his own plate.

“Thanks, Ducky,” Tim said as he sat, sending a small smile to Abby before looking over at the Winchesters. His smile faded as feelings of guilt washed over him again. “Look, guys...I'm real sorry about what happened...”

“Hey, man,” Dean said with a mouthful of waffle, “Wasn't you. We deal with this kinda stuff a lot. Believe me, there was no way you could've controlled any of it.”

“Yeah, Dean's right,” Sam said, swallowing before he talked, as he had much better table manners; Lord knows how, being related to Dean. “The reason we got these tattoos; I'd been possessed. The demon who'd possessed me...killed another hunter. Then attacked a friend of ours. And then...” he took a breath, “I ended up shooting Dean.”

McGee furrowed his brow. “Wow,” was all he could respond with.

“Yeah,” Sam smirked. “Not my finest hours.”

“But also not his fault,” Dean added. “No way you can carry that around with you. It'll eat you alive, and you don't deserve that. You did everything to prevent it from happening. I don't even understand how it got past the tat.” They heard the front door open and Tony glanced to see Gibbs and Ziva come in.

“He had people take me,” McGee explained.

“They cut through the symbol,” Tony took over, seeing Tim grow slightly apprehensive with discussing it. “I'm guessing all the superficial wounds they riddled him with were to distract us from lookin' at the already bandaged tattoo.”

“You made waffles, DiNozzo?” Gibbs asked as he entered the kitchen.

“Yeah, Boss,” he grinned. “Hope ya don't mind; I found the waffle maker when I was lookin' around for the flour. Didn't think you'd have a waffle maker...I was kinda surprised.” 

“Ya think I've never made waffles?” he cocked his head.

“Well...you just don't seem like the kinda guy who...makes anything much for breakfast, besides coffee, Boss. Not that I'm implying you can't. I mean, clearly you make a damned good steak.”

“Been makin' everyone's breakfast all week, Tony,” he narrowed his eyes.

“I know! And it's been great! I just...I wanted to...uh...I promised McGee waffles...and uh-”

“DiNozzo!” he stopped his rambling. Tony swallowed as he straightened. But Gibbs' features softened. “Smells pretty good,” he tried to stifle a smirk. “I'm gonna hit the shower and I'll be down to try 'em out.”

Tony's grin reignited, “I'll make a fresh batch, boss!” He grabbed the batter bowl and rinsed it out in the sink before returning it to the counter to start the batter. 

“So you're really doing okay, Timmy?” Abby asked.

“Yeah,” he gave her another small smile before cutting into his waffles after he'd dumped a decent amount of syrup on them. He could tell she was watching him from the corner of his eye. He glanced at her disbelieving face. “Really, Abs, I'm fine,” he said with a small laugh.

“Should I call my friend back to get you another tat?” she offered.

“I'm not getting another one, Abby. I'm just gonna have to wait for Castiel to get back and have him...ya know...heal it, or whatever. Ducky said it should be stitched, but as long as it's been sitting like this, he'd have to rip it open again before he could sew it properly. So I'm just gonna wait.”  
Once Tony finished the batter, he made his way to the table with his plate; waiting to start the new batch until Gibbs and Ziva would be down to enjoy them fresh off the grittle. He and Dean began an interesting conversation about movies and cars; the others adding comments here and there. But the discussion was definitely dominated by the two of them.   
Sam and Tim had each, at some point, shaken their heads at the fact that Dean and Tony seemed to also share the inconsideration of talking with their mouths full. Abby, however, seemed to be the only one to notice how similar the two of them were. That is, until she looked over at Sam, who had suddenly become rather quiet.

“Sam?” she questioned as he began rubbing his forehead between his thumb and forefinger as he slouched slightly at the table. The conversation came to a sudden halt as their attention shot to Sam. “Are you okay?”

Dean noticed Sam's other hand was clenching his stomach. “Sam?” he questioned when his brother didn't respond to Abby. 

“I think I uh...” Sam started as he pushed away from the table, “Think it might be time for more pain meds.” As he stood, wavering a bit, Dean shot up to steady him. “Oh damn...” the hand that was on his forehead suddenly joined his other against his stomach.

“Okay, Sammy, let's get you back to bed,” Dean said worriedly, as he attempted to help him walk.  
Sam made a choking sound, then, and Abby gasped when she saw blood dribble down his chin...


	8. Chapter 8

After much struggle, Bobby, Tony and McGee managed to pry Dean away from his brother's bedside and allow Ducky to examine him. Seeing Sam like that had caused the older brother to go into a state of pure panic. The last time he'd seen him that ashen, he was lying dead in a bed he and Bobby ended up bringing him back to after he'd been stabbed in the back...literally.  
The more Dean paced the living room, the more his head hurt. His chest hurt; his stomach ached...and it was becoming hard to breathe. “I need some air,” he said to no one in particular, though Abby, Tony and McGee were in the room with him, as Gibbs and Ziva were still upstairs, unaware. And Bobby was in the room with Sam and Ducky.

Abby began to protest when the older Winchester made his way toward the front door, but Tony held a hand up. “I'll go with him.” Because he would be safe with someone else out there with him. McGee, on the other hand, was prohibited from leaving until he was healed, and he needed someone with him, as well, right now.   
Tony followed Dean to the porch and quietly shut the door behind him. Dean sank down to sit on the steps, trying to catch his breath. Tony sat down beside him, simply wishing he could somehow comfort the kid. But he really wasn't sure how. So he remained silent.

“I can't freakin' breathe,” Dean said in barely a whisper. 

“Just gotta calm down,” Tony found himself saying. “I've had a panic attack once or twice, myself... Not fun, but you can pull yourself together if you try.”

“Panic attack?” he breathed. Freakin' panic attack? I haven't felt like this since...since getting that damned ghost sickness. “Feel like my heart's gonna explode, s'goin' so damn fast.”

“All part of the game, unfortunately. It'll pass. Just gotta take deep breaths. Might help if you put your head between your knees,” he suggested. 

Desperate, Dean was willing to try anything to make the feeling go away. So he complied, resting his shoulders against his knees and allowing his head to drop between them. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on taking deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out... after a few torturous moments, he felt some semblance of control returning. “Sam died...” he said unexpectedly. Tony was about to protest, but Dean continued, “Over a year ago, he was stabbed in the back by this crazy sonofabitch... He died in my arms.”

Tony wasn't sure how to respond. Death didn't seem like it was that big of a problem for the Winchesters, after all. “But Castiel brought him back, right?”

Dean let out a small laugh, still in his same position as he was too afraid to move from it at the time. “Hadn't met him til...well, a long while after that,” he told him. 

Tony furrowed his brow, “But how...?”

“I didn't know what to do,” he continued. “Sam is everything to me. He's all I have. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him.” He sniffled then, and Tony realized the kid might be crying. 

“What did you do?”

“Honestly? At first, I was completely lost. Funny thing is, of all the things that'd crossed my mind at the time, I didn't even think about goin' after the bastard that did it. I just didn't care anymore. But after 'while, I thought of the one thing I could do,” he told him. “I made a deal...my life for his.”

He wasn't sure how or what that meant, but putting the sci-fi twist that had suddenly become their lives, into the equation, he could imagine. “But...you're alive.”

Dean let out another small laugh, “Excellent observation, Sherlock. But I did die. That's when Cas came into our lives. He pulled me outta Hell.”

“You went to Hell? After all the evil you've destroyed your whole life? Doesn't that catch you any favors with the man upstairs?”

“Well, I'm guessin' that's one of the reasons they sent Cas to get me out. But I guess my point is, I'm outta deals. I don't get anymore favors. I can't help him this time. If he dies...”

“We're not gonna let that happen, Dean. If Ducky says we need to get him to a hospital, then we'll take him there; stay with him and keep him safe.”

“What if Cas can't get back?” he slowly straightened to sit up and glance over at Tony. “What if his organs start shuttin' down and there's nothin' they can do, and Cas doesn't make it back here?” Tony wasn't really sure how to answer that. Dean looked out onto the street in front of the house. “Way I figure it, Sam and I have cheated death so many times...a guy's bound to run out of luck at some point, right?”

Tony was about to reply, when Bobby opened the door. “Dean...” Dean stood and turned to face him. “Sam's askin' for ya.” The look on Bobby's face gave no indication of good or bad news, really. But with a quick, nervous glance to Tony, Dean headed back inside. Tony followed him into the house but cut into the living room after shutting the door behind him  
When Dean reached the guest room, Bobby opened the door for him and let him in first. Sam was propped up a bit with several pillows, leaving him at an incline. His head was lolled to the side and his eyes were closed.

“He's asleep now,” Ducky told him. “Probably the best thing for him at the moment. But he was requesting your presence. Once the pain killers started doing their job, he was out like a light.”

Dean made his way to the other side of the bed. “What's wrong with him?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“At this point, my best estimation would be gastric erosion,” the doctor explained. “For whatever amount of time the venom was in his system, it could've caused the lining of his stomach to erode a bit. Although my first assumption had been to check his lungs, he most definitely isn't suffering respiratory distress. The blood came from his stomach, as far as I can tell.”

“So...what do we do for him?”

“I gave him some antacids before he fell asleep. It should help with the discomfort and minimize acid production, giving his stomach a bit of recovery time. I must say, however, that we're unaware what other damage may already be running its course in Sam's body right now. If his symptoms should worsen, I believe we'll need to get him into a hospital.”

Dean nodded in acknowledgment, but his eyes seemed unfocused in the air somewhere between himself and Sam. Ducky stood and said something to Bobby before leaving the room. Soon, Bobby was at Dean's side; a hand on his shoulder. “If it comes to that,” he told him, “We'll keep 'im safe, Dean.” 

Once again, Dean nodded, but didn't look away from his brother's sleeping form. Eventually, Bobby left him alone with Sam. Dean pulled a chair up close to the side of the bed and sank down into it. He closed his eyes for a moment, then he opened them to look up at the ceiling. “Cas...wherever you are, we need you back here...”

11 00 11 00 11

All items collected, Vali and Castiel journeyed back to Vali's home where his mother had the final element for the protection bindings.   
Feeling a small amount of energy returning to him, Castiel seemed to grow even more impatient. Now, there was nothing to do but wait. He wished his cell phone could get inter-dimensional signal.  
“Drink this,” Sygin said as she entered the seating room with a cup of, what resembled, tea.

“I don't require drink,” he told her.

She cocked her head, “Does it look like I require drink, Castiel?” He narrowed his eyes. “Drink it,” she handed it over to him and he reluctantly took it, “Then rest. You may not require sleep, but you'll regain your energy quicker if you do.” 

He looked into the cup at the slightly green-colored liquid. “What is this?” he questioned.

“It is tea made from the leaves of Yggdrasill, the world tree,” she explained. “I've made this for Vali since his return. It helped him a great deal to regain his power before making the journey to your world. Perhaps it will also help you.”

After contemplating her words, he looked back up at her. “Thank you.”

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs and Ziva sat at the table with Tony after he made the promised fresh batch of waffles. He'd explained what happened with Sam after they finished. Everyone else had retreated to the basement in hopes to talk without disturbing Sam's sleep.  
“Why do we not take him to the hospital before he gets worse?” Ziva asked quietly.

“You know why, Zi,” Tony replied. “It's trading one danger for another. Ducky says he's okay for now. We just have to wait-”

“For Castiel,” she finished for him, a hint of frustration in her voice. “I know. I am simply worried about Sam. Clearly he is suffering a great deal and every moment we sit here waiting, he is getting worse.”

“Not much else we can do, Ziver,” Gibbs said as he stood and took both of their plates to the sink.   
Abby and Tim had cleaned up the kitchen when Sam had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. So Gibbs only had two plates and forks to wash; something for which he was grateful. 

“Dean seems pretty beside himself about it,” Tony said. “He told me Sam had died a while back; died in his arms after being stabbed. This was before they met Castiel. Dean ended up makin' some kinda deal, trading his life for Sam's...” Gibbs stopped what he was doing and glanced over at Ziva just as she looked at him. Tony narrowed his eyes. “You guys know somethin' I don't?” he asked.

“Sam told us a couple of days ago,” Ziva began, “That Dean made a deal to save him. I did not realize that he meant 'from death'.” 

“Where was I for story-hour?” Tony seemed slightly offended.

“You were in shock,” Gibbs said as he dried the plates.

“Oh...right.”

“Did he tell you how his life was taken?” Ziva asked.

Tony shook his head, “Only that he somehow ended up in Hell.”

“The reason he told us the story,” Gibbs told him as he went to sit back down at the table, “Was because of what happened with Fenrir.” He met Tony's eyes. “What that thing did to McGee, that's what somethin' called a hellhound did to Dean.”

“Sam was in the room,” Ziva added. “He told us this in case you might have needed someone to talk to that could relate.”

Tony's gaze shifted a bit past Ziva for a moment. Then he made an almost indiscernable sound of nervous laughter, pasting an infamous DiNozzo grin on his face as he focused on Ziva again, “Why would I need to do that?” he asked. “I mean...McGee's fine. He's fine.” 

“Yeah he is,” Gibbs said, causing Tony to look over at him. “Doesn't make what you witnessed disappear.”

“What I saw doesn't matter,” he insisted, his grin slowly fading away. “Castiel brought him back; healed him. He won't even have any scars.”

“But he didn't erase your memory of what happened,” he reminded him.

“Yeah, I'm aware, boss. I've been reminded in the few rare moments of sleep I've been able to get the past couple of days.”

“You have not been sleeping well?” Ziva asked, concerned.

“Well no, Zi,” he said in slightly annoyed sarcasm as he cocked his head. “I keep hearing him scream in my head like when that wolf tore open his chest...” the lump in his throat suddenly seemed overwhelmingly constricting against the abuse it had taken the night before. He began to cough, and it a slight bit of panic, pushed away from the table and backed up until he hit the counter, grasping at his throat as if something were tied around it, choking him.

Gibbs was at his side in a heartbeat and Ziva fetched him a glass of water. “Breathe, DiNozzo,” Gibbs tried to calm him, placing one hand on his shoulder and using the other to move his hands away from causing any further damage. “Ziva, go get Duck,” he told her as he took the glass from her hand. She nodded and quickly made her way to the basement door. 

Gibbs put the glass down on the counter, seeing Tony was in no condition to try and drink anything at the moment. As Tony's coughing turned into some sort of wheezing, he met Gibbs' eyes. “Boss,...can't...breathe...” he started to slide down the cabinet toward the floor.

“Tony,” Gibbs grabbed him and eased him down slowly, “Tony, you stay with me,” he told him, slight panic twinging in his own chest now. “Ducky's comin'.”

“My word, Anthony,” Ducky walked into the kitchen with Ziva at his back. “What's happened?”

“Says he can't breathe,” Gibbs answered for him as the doctor came to crouch down in front of Tony.

“Ziva, fetch my medical bag from the living room beside the couch, if you please,” he said as he reached out to press examining fingers along Tony's neck. As Ducky did his job, Gibbs' focus was pulled toward the living room when he heard McGee's voice. He was asking Ziva what was happening, and she seemed determined for him to wait there.   
His attention pulled back to his senior field agent when he felt his hand clutching onto his arm. Tony's breathing had resorted to small, struggled bursts. His face contorted with panic at his inability to get enough air. Ziva laid the bag down beside Ducky and knelt down at Tony's other side, taking his hand in hers.   
“Well, the good news is,” Ducky began, “I don't believe we're dealing with a collapse. There seems to be a significant amount of swelling, however, which seems to be putting a dangerous amount of pressure on Anthony's windpipe,” he opened his bag and began to rifle around in it.

“Can you fix that?” Gibbs asked.

“I can try,” he replied as he pulled a small kit, slightly similar to the pain killer kit from his bag. “This should reduce the swelling almost immediately.”

“What is that?” Ziva asked.

“A form of steroids, my dear. It's called Prednisone. Now, at the risk of him moving while I inject him, we should lie him flat. Jethro, if you please...” Gibbs moved immediately into action, pulling the agent away from the cabinet and lying him flat on his back on the floor. “Hold him still, if you would. Anthony,” he addressed the panicked agent, “I'm going to inject this into your neck. It will most likely pinch a bit, but I doubt you'll much care once the results come about. Try and be still; I'd like to avoid giving a tracheotomy this morning,” he attempted a humorous smirk.  
Tony closed his eyes, jostling a tear to escape the corner of his eye. Gibbs held either side of Tony's head as Ducky injected the liquid. Gibbs grimaced at the sight of the needle going into his neck, but Tony didn't even seem to flinch. As the syringe emptied, Gibbs looked away and past them into the living room.   
McGee was standing there in the doorway, an expression of great apprehension present on his face as he watched Tony's struggle. He seemed to be holding his breath, as well. Then, of course, there was the inevitable look of guilt. Gibbs knew that McGee logically understood that none of this was his fault; the strangling, the bruising...this. But he also knew that, had it been him in McGee's shoes, Gibbs would probably find it difficult not to feel the same way at some level.   
Gibbs felt Tony's head arch back in his hands and heard the sudden deep intake of breath, and he looked down at him. “Help him to sit up, Jethro,” Ducky said. Gibbs complied, putting his hands under Tony's arms and pulling him up, allowing the younger agent to lean back against him. “There we are,” Ducky took Tony's wrist and felt for his heart rate.

“Is he going to be alright?” Ziva asked him.

“It seems, for the time being, that the problem has been resolved,” Ducky said. “Anthony, are you feeling discomfort anywhere else, at the moment?”

Tony shook his head, “No.” He opened his eyes and focused on the doctor beside him. “Jus' glad to be...breathing...thanks,” he smiled.

“No thanks necessary, my boy,” he patted his shoulder.

“I was...beginning to think...maybe there was something...wrong with my cooking,” he let out a breathy laugh.

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs warned, “Shut up an' breathe, will ya?”

“Love you too, boss,” he smirked, though Gibbs couldn't rightly see his face. But Gibbs smirked as well and glanced back up at the doorway. McGee wasn't there anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

Alone. Technically, aside from using the bathroom, they weren't supposed to really be alone at any point in time until Castiel returned to tell them what the hell exactly was going on. But Tim needed to be alone right now.   
So he sat there in the upstairs guestroom, in front of the window, in a chair. He gazed out through the small opening in the curtains at the world they were forbidden to go out into for the time-being. Not that he wanted to.   
Hell, he didn't necessarily want to be alone at all. But he couldn't stay down there with them; anyone. Not when he couldn't stop the ache in his chest from a guilt he'd practically promised to let go of. There was no way he could let Tony see he still blamed himself. If he did that, Tony would dwell in the misplaced guilt he'd bestowed upon himself for Tim's abduction.  
Yeah, he knew neither of them were to blame for any of this...not really. But Tony couldn't understand; not what Tim was feeling. Tim had felt Tony's throat in his hand. He felt the squeezing intrusion, clamping his airway closed under his fingers; felt every struggled breath wheeze vibrations into his palm...  
When he closed his eyes, it played out as if the backs of his eyelids were horrific high-tech movie screens forged in Purgatory's Geek-lab. Taunting him. Fingerprinting him with some kind of evil ectoplasm goo that could never be washed off. It felt dirty...like rape.   
And really, it was the closest thing to compare it to. He'd been violated; forced against his will to do something with his body...to hurt someone he cared about. Yeah...it was pretty much worse. Unfortunately, he would know...

“Tim?” Gibbs voice snapped him back into a reality he wasn't sure he was steady enough to reenter. Luckily, he wasn't facing the door, and his boss couldn't see his face. It gave him time to put up some semblance of a mask before the man was able to reach his side.

McGee looked up at him, “Yeah, boss?”

“Why are you up here by yourself?”

“I- I uh...” he stood, as if just remembering he had his hand in the cookie jar, “I'm sorry...Abby's been talking with Bobby non-stop about things I'd just as soon rather not. I just needed someplace to think. Someplace quiet.”

“Anything you wanna talk about?” Gibbs asked.

McGee shook his head, “I don't think you wanna hear it, boss.”

Gibbs put a hand on his shoulder. “Last thing we need to start doin', McGee, is keepin' everything bottled up. You got somethin' on your mind about all this, you should talk about it.”

Tim's eyes focused somewhere past Gibbs, darting around indecisively. “It's just...I've been thinking about that first demon,” he began, decidedly taking a few steps to the middle of the room before turning to somewhat face Gibbs' general direction. “The one we didn't even realize we were dealing with. I was thinking about what those men did after the demon left them; what must've been going through their heads...knowing what they'd done. Sure it wasn't really them, but...having been the hands that did those things; killed those women... I get why they decided to end their lives,” he met Gibbs' eyes. “Those images don't go away. They just keep replaying, over and over...” his voice cracked with his final sentence.  
Gibbs' heart twisted and sank in his chest at what McGee had implied. “I get why they decided to end their lives.” He took the couple of steps to bring him back to Tim and looked him in the eye. But Tim seemed nervous; embarrassed, as if he shouldn't be letting this get to him so badly. Like he had to justify the intensity...   
“Boss, he was gonna use me to kill...everyone,” his eyes shone. “Not just a bunch of people, but a bunch of people I care about...who are like family to me. And he was gonna make all of you suffer.”

“And that would've been in your head, too,” Gibbs put his hands on Tim's shoulders, in attempt to connect and give some kind of comfort. “I get it, Tim. I know how close it came to it and I can understand how ya must feel about what did happen.” Tim furrowed his brow, slightly surprised by his comment. “It's okay to be frustrated or pissed off or upset that your friends got hurt. Okay to feel all of those things. But feelin' guilty, like this is somehow any of your fault; that's not an option.” McGee's eyes darted around somewhere past Gibbs, and the lead agent pulled a hand from Tim's shoulder and tapped his chin to get him to focus again. “Hey, you're as much a victim in this as the rest of us. Hell, even more so! You've taken a helluva lot more than the rest of us in all this, and not once have I seen you get scared enough to try and talk your way out of this fight.” Gibbs felt a swell of pride for his agent. “You've been through the ringer and you've stuck through it all, McGee. You know why?” Tim's eyes shifted a bit in thought, but Gibbs decidedly answered for him, “Because you care about this team. You won't let us do this without you at our side. Despite whatever fear comes with what we've been doing, you've run in time right with us through it all, and that makes you such an important part of this; an asset.”  
Tim's eyes widened a bit at his boss. He couldn't recall ever having been called an asset...not by Gibbs. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought he was just saying it to snap him out of his current state. But Gibbs didn't say things he didn't mean. McGee was speechless.  
“Hell, McGee,” he said as he dropped his arms to his sides, “I'm proud of ya.” Tim's face reddened almost comically and he dropped his head a bit as he let out a sound that could've been interpreted as a laugh or a sob. “C'mon; I don't think any of us should be anywhere alone until we know what's goin' on,” he headed toward the door. After a moment, Tim straightened himself and followed.

11 00 11 00 11

 

Being stuck in a house all day, time kind of goes by in a strangely different sense. Perhaps no one knew this better than Tony; sick leave being one of his favorite things to avoid. He'd learned of his hatred for being stuck at home after getting out of the hospital and recovering from his bout with the plague.   
So he kept himself busy. He had to sneak around to do so, though; with Ducky worrying about him and Gibbs seemingly always knowing exactly what he was up to. This was probably one of the few times he was actually grateful for the chaotic amount of people crammed into this house.  
It was nearing dinner time. Ziva, Abby and Tim busied themselves with preparing the food. Tony took the opportunity to do some laundry.   
Bobby had convinced Dean to let him take a shift watching over Sam, who was still sleeping off yet another round of pain medication. After greeting those in the kitchen, he'd gotten a couple of beers from the fridge and made his way to the basement where Ducky and Gibbs were each indulging in a glass of bourbon.  
“I'm not disturbing you guys, am I?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Ducky told him. “We were just avoiding being sucked into assisting with dinner preparations,” he chuckled. Dean smirked as he made his way to his hammock and plopped into it, setting one of the beers on the floor before twisting open the one in his hand.

“Sam holdin' up okay?” Gibbs asked.

“Doesn't seem to be any worse than this morning,” he replied before taking a long drink. “Guess that's the best we can hope for, at this point.”

“Better than the alternative, I suppose,” Ducky said. “Neither you nor your brother have eaten since breakfast. Once you've had dinner, we'll wake up Sam and try to get him to eat something that'll be gentle on his stomach.”

“I'm not really hungry, Doc,” Dean smirked. “Not somethin' you'll hear very often from me, but it's true.” His gaze shifted when he heard, or rather stopped hearing the constant humming noise from what he now realized was a dryer. He glanced back over at Gibbs, “Hey, would you mind if I did some laundry later? I'd take our stuff to the mat, but...ya know.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he replied then turned to look at Ducky, “Who's doin' laundry right now?”

As if on cue, Tony began his descent down the stairs, freezing momentarily when he realized the very people he'd been attempting to sneak around were both there. He let out a small laugh, grinning as if he could somehow casually continue and fake ignorance as he continued down the stairs and over to the dryer. “Hey, guys. Am I missing a party?”

“You're doin' laundry, DiNozzo?” Gibbs narrowed his eyes at his senior agent's back.

“Well, yeah, boss. Unless you'd rather we run around your house smellin' like a pair of caged monkies. McGee was outta clean clothes and I was comin' pretty close, too. Figured I'd kill two birds-”

“You're doin' McGee's laundry?” 

“He's cookin' dinner, boss,” he argued, turning a bit as he pulled the dry clothes into a basket. “Neither one of us has enough clothes here for a whole load. Would've been a waste not to just wash 'em together. Besides, I'm fine; no side effects or anything Ducky told me to watch for. I mean, except for the restlessness, obviously.” 

“Yeah, Bobby told me what happened this morning,” Dean said. “You doin' okay?”

“Still breathing,” he grinned before returning to his task.

Gibbs glanced at Ducky for an objections or concerns, before looking back to Tony who'd opened the lid to the washer and begun throwing towels into the now empty dryer. “Did towels, too?”

“C'mon, boss; we were pretty low,” he let out a small laugh. “I think I can handle a couple loads of laundry.”

“Thinkin' about just havin' you do it all while you're at it,” he smirked before taking a drink from his glass.

11 00 11 00 11

Dean carried a tray into the guest room as Bobby opened the door for him. The small salad seemed like something Sam would probably enjoy. The rice and bananas...well, Dean could think of nothing but the Gerber baby cereal they used to have when Sam was really little.   
Bobby stayed in the room with him as Dean set the tray down on the side table and sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand to his brother's shoulder and softly shaking him, “Sam. Time to get up and have some dinner, dude.”

Sam groaned, “'M not h'ngry.”

“I know, kiddo. But ya gotta try an' eat somethin'.” Dean furrowed a brow as Sam's face scrunched up and eyes remained closed. He glanced over at Bobby.

“Sam, Dean's right,” the older man told him. “Gotta at least try. Don't want you to starve to death, here.”

“Stomach hurts,” Sam told them.

“Like hurt hurts, or sick to your stomach?” Dean asked.

“Like s'meone stabbin' me in the stomach,” he grimaced.

Bobby sat down on the other side of the bed. “Open your eyes, son,” he told him as he leaned over. 

Sam squeezed the closed harder and shook his head as the pain seemed to jolt him violently back into consciousness. “No... Just gimme more meds...”

“This is important, Sam,” Bobby told him.

“C'mon, Sammy.” Dean took his hand, worry etched in his face, “Just for a minute.”

After a few moments, Sam cracked open his eyes. He blinked a few times before focusing on Dean, then looked over at Bobby. They both noticed the yellow tint that should've been white. Bobby sighed, “Sonofabitch...” 

“Bobby,” Dean's worry doubled, “That means...” he didn't need to finish; they both knew what it meant. On a whim, Bobby pulled the covers off of Sam. The blood that pooled between his legs onto the sheets caused all the blood to leave his older brother's face. “Oh god...”

“Dean, it's time to bring him to a hospital,” Bobby said.

“Ducky!” Dean yelled without looking away from his brother.

“I'll get 'im,” Bobby said as he stood and rushed for the door.

“Dean, what's happening to me?” Sam started to panic when he saw the blood.

“Look at me,” Dean told him, if for no other reason than to keep his mind off of what he'd seen. Once Sam's eyes met Dean's, he continued, “We're gonna get you to a hospital and we're gonna keep you safe.” He hated how shaky his own voice sounded. “You're gonna be okay, Sammy. We're gonna make sure you get better, no matter what, okay? But I swear, if I end up havin' to give you one of my kidneys, you're gonna owe me for life,” he feigned a laugh to lighten the mood.

Sam's lips curled up, or at least tried to. But then his eyes began to droop; lids slowly closing though it seemed he was trying to keep them open. “Sam?” Dean caught his face as it lolled to the side. “Sammy?” The younger Winchester wasn't responding; his eyes beginning to roll with the effort to stay awake. “C'mon, Sam. Don't do this...don't do this to me...”  
Dean couldn't help but to remember the look on Sam's face when he'd been stabbed in the back. The way his eyes had done just this, fading along with his life, as he talked to him; promising everything would be okay. Telling him they'd patch him up and he'd be good as new. Reminding him he'd take care of him; that was his job, to “Take care of my pain in the ass little brother”. But then he'd died...  
Looking at Sam now, the same ache returned to Dean's chest. His brother was dying... And this time, he wasn't going to let his last words to him contain the suggestion that he was a pain in the ass. “I love you, Sammy,” he told him in barely a whisper as tears betrayed him, falling down his cheeks. “Please...please...” Please what? He closed his eyes. Please don't die again...

“Oh my,” Ducky's voice sounded as he quickly entered the room. “I'm afraid it is most definitely necessary to get him to a hospital. We can get him there faster than calling to wait on an ambulance.”

“That won't be necessary,” a familiar voice suddenly entered the room causing all of them to turn around.

“Cas!” Dean's eyes widened and he stood to make room for the angel to reach Sam. Without wasting another moment, Castiel approached the younger brother and touched his forehead.   
Just like that...after everything; all the waiting and suffering and anxieties...Sam was perfectly fine. He sat up in the bed and looked up at his healer. Castiel turned to look at the older brother. 

“Sorry I'm late...”


	10. Chapter 10

After healing McGee and verifying that his protection tattoo was once again intact, Castiel turned to Tony. It was an instantaneous relief from aches and pains Tony hadn't even realized he'd grown somewhat used to; at least, enough not to be constantly thinking about them.   
“Thank you,” Tony sighed before turning to join Tim in the kitchen where Gibbs and Ducky had retreated after Castiel's arrival.   
Sam was getting into the shower; Abby and Ziva stripping down the bed, if for no other reason than to be out of the way. Dean was trying to remain patient as he sat in the armchair in the living room.

“Dean's turn,” Bobby told the angel. Castiel looked at him, cocking his head slightly and narrowing his eyes in question. “Don't look at me like that, Cas,” Bobby scoffed. “Whatever you did to contact him, he was bleeding outta his eyes, nose and ears. He had a seizure for God's sake!”

Castiel straightened, “I didn't realize...”

“Well, have you ever done that to anyone before?” he asked.

“Not under those circumstances, no,” he admitted, his gaze falling somewhere on the floor ahead of him. 

“It was necessary,” Dean spoke up without getting out of the chair, or so much as looking back at them. “Let's just...get it over with, huh? My head's killin' me.”

“Why didn't you say you were in pain, son?” Bobby's tone was slightly frustrated as he moved to where he could see Dean's face.

“We had bigger things to worry about. Now, Cas, do your mojo, will ya? I can't yell at you with a headache...”

Castiel narrowed his eyes for a moment, then walked around the chair in front of Dean and touched his forehead. “Be careful what you choose to say, Dean. I know these past few days have been difficult for you all. But I haven't been under pleasant circumstances either.”

Dean's desire to argue with the angel dissolved. “Yeah, I know, Cas. Figured you weren't just leavin' us out to dry. I've just been...really stressed the hell out. So, I'd like to know where the hell you've been the past 24 hours.”

“Getting these,” Castiel replied as he pulled out a handful of hex-bags. “They'll assure the safety of this house again. Especially from those of Valhalla.”

“Awesome,” Dean stood. “Where do they need to go?”

“Into the walls on the farthest four corners of the house,” he handed the bags to Dean.

Dean turned and walked toward the kitchen, “Hey Gibbs?”

“Yeah?” Gibbs looked up from his coffee.

“We uh...kinda need to make some holes in your walls...” Dean smiled nervously. Gibbs raised his brows in question. “Small ones. Just four; one in each corner to put these in,” he held up the bags. “They'll guarantee any Loki-demons from getting in here, regardless what they try.”

Tim stood from his seat at the table. “You need help?”

Tony stood as well, willing to be of assistance. Gibbs ran a hand down his face. “You're all gonna help patch the damn things up tomorrow...”

11 00 11 00 11

For the simple fact that they'd have to patch the walls up again, they opted to cut small holes with precision. Tony, being the most articulate and anally retentive, was still carving out the last bit of wall in the corner of the living room near the window, when Dean, Bobby and McGee came back in, being finished with their own.  
“Don't quit your day-job, man,” Dean quipped.

“Wasn't plannin' on it, smartass,” Tony retorted with a smirk right as the small piece of drywall clattered to the floor. “Here we go,” he said as he picked up the small bag and plopped it into the hole.   
Immediately, there was a strange and quick burst of energy; like a wave, really. Like when you were a kid and some 'really cool' older cousin shows you what happens when you light the lint on the bottom of your sock; a quick rush of flame completely and quickly travels the full length of it, then shimmers out, leaving nothing damaged.  
Their attention fell to the picture window beside them as it began to frost over before their eyes; crystals stretching out to cover every square inch like a time-lapsed video of a creation of art. 

“This supposed to be happening?” Gibbs called from the kitchen and they turned to see the same was happening to the glass on the door to the deck.

“Yes,” Castiel replied simply. 

“Well,” Tony said as they watched the frost complete its coverage, “That was pretty awesome. A little on the creepy side, but definitely cool; no pun intended...”

11 00 11 00 11

“We've really gotta stop these late-night healings,” Sam said as he indulged in the dinner he hadn't previously been allowed to touch, or been willing to for that matter. 

“Hey, I don't wanna hear it,” Dean said as he too took a large bite of his food, having suddenly regained an appetite. “You're alive. I don't care how screwed up our sleep-patterns are right now.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know I didn't mean it like that,” he smirked. He took a moment to appraise his brother as he stuffed his face with an impossible amount of food. He couldn't help but to grin, thinking back on what Dean had said to him when he thought he was going to die. Why pass up the chance to give him a hard time?

Dean met his eyes and stopped mid-chew, his cheeks puffed out comically like some kind of human hamster, confused by Sam's grin. “What?” came out muffled, yet clear.

“I love you too, Dean,” he let out a small laugh.

“Oh screw you, Sammy,” he resumed chewing, scoffing at the fact that Sam was actually gonna screw with him about that. “Next time I'll remember to-”

“Let's just...not plan on there being a next time, for either of us, okay?” he interrupted as his smile softened. 

After a moment of consideration, and swallowing, Dean nodded. “Sounds like a great idea.” His gaze turned to the angel standing up against the doorway trim, seemingly paying attention to nothing in particular. “Hey Cas, you hungry?”

Castiel looked up at him. “No. I'd rather be out tracking the girl that lit the holy fire around me, and the man that broke Tim's protection symbol.”

“I told you already,” Dean said, “Buddy system; that includes you. No more goin' off on your own, 'cause apparently you're in just as much danger as the rest of us.”

“It was mere chance that I was trapped, Dean.”

“Yeah, well excuse me if I'm not willing to risk that chance of you disappearing on us again. You wanna track? We'll track tomorrow. You, me and Sam.”

“We can help with that,” Abby said as she and Ziva entered the kitchen. They were both in bedclothes; Abby in flannel pajama pants that were mostly black with little red and white skulls and crossbones, and a red baby-doll tee shirt that said 'Eat me'.   
Ziva's attire was much less...animated. A light pair of cotton pajama pants and a white tank top; neither with any sort of décor. Still, Dean noticed Sam watching her as the two women went to the fridge. He smirked; Sam glanced to catch it and gave him a look before looking down at his plate.  
“Tony can sketch the girl you saw, Cas,” Abby told the angel as she found her Caf-Pow and moved out of the way so Ziva could fetch a bottle of water, “And if Tim remembers anyone from when he was held... Then I can run them through facial recognition and see if we can come up with any hits.”

“Since there are not many people in the office on Sundays,” Ziva added as she closed the fridge, “We should be able to do this without many questions.”

“Finding the humans is only part of the problem,” Castiel said. “They're working with demons. The girl whom I spoke with believes she will receive real power by assisting them.”

“But if we find the girl,” Dean said, “We can find the demons she's been working for. And I'm all about gettin' outta the house. Even if it involves goin' into a federal building.”

“You must be desperate,” Sam smirked. Then he sighed and looked over as Castiel, “When we do find them, the summoning stops, right?”

“Theoretically, yes,” he replied, “If we reach the source and eliminate its followers, we shouldn't have anymore problems with the realm of Valhalla.”

“Dean, I've got the mattress clean and flipped,” Bobby said as he came out of the guest room. “Think the sheets are dry now?”

“Bobby, I said I'd take care of that,” Sam told him as he stood from the table.

“Well, I'm sure Ducky wants to go to bed sometime before you're done stuffin' your face,” he said sarcastically. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ducky's downstairs playing poker with Gibbs and them. Which is what I thought you were doing, or I would've stopped you and done it myself.”

“How come you ladies aren't playin', too?” Dean asked.

Abby smirked, “Because they're not playing the kinda poker we play.”  
Dean's brows rose in utter amusement and Sam had looked over when he'd heard Abby's response. Ziva was smirking now, too, and he felt himself blush before he cleared his throat, “I'm gonna go see if the sheets are dry,” he said as he casually fled toward the basement steps.

11 00 11 00 11

He couldn't feel it this time, the tearing at his chest that had been so clearly imprinted in his brain. He could sense his own screams, but couldn't really hear them. What he did hear, however, was Tony...  
“McGee!” his voice sounded tortured before reaching his side. Tony's eyes showed a fear he couldn't recall ever having seen before. “Probie...Jesus, McGee...I need to get you outta here...”  
Tim was talking to him; almost recalled what he'd said. But soon, the world seemed to get dim and fade...

Tim was pulled from his sleep, wondering if he'd dragged the audio with him as he could still, clearly, hear Tony's voice.  
“McGee...” his voice sounded so broken. Tim turned around, searching for the origin of his mentor's voice, and the memory of where he was helped him to recall that they were bunking in Gibbs' guest room, and Tony was on the other side of the bed.   
The room was fairly dark; the only light coming from the shining of the moon through the frost-covered window. But it was enough to see that Tony was on his back, twisted in the sheets, and in the middle of a disturbing nightmare.  
“Tim...” his voice cracked. “No...” his face skewed into an anguished expression that pulled painfully at Tim's heart.

Hesitantly, put determined, McGee reached out and put a hand on Tony's shoulder, “Tony,” he lightly shook him. 

“Damnit, Tim,” tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, and at first, McGee thought he'd pissed him off by waking him. “'M s'rry. I shoulda had your six, man. Let you down...” 

“Tony?” he shook him a bit harder, more determined to stop this hellish reenactment.

“McGee?” Tony didn't open his eyes.

“Yeah, Tony. It's me. It's okay... You're just dreaming.”

“'M sorry...” his face relaxed and he twisted around onto his side and quieted down. Tim wasn't sure Tony had really woken up at all, but he at least seemed to have calmed down.   
Once Tony's breathing evened out, Tim settled back down on his own side of the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He wondered if his own dream had been brought about my hearing Tony talking in his sleep. Either way, the fact that Tony was still having that awful nightmare made him sick to his stomach.   
Does Sam still have nightmares about Dean being killed that way? He wondered... Maybe he'd add that to the list of things to do the next day; Tony needed to talk to Sam. And McGee needed to talk to Tony, because apparently, there was still some guilt left where it shouldn't be...

11 00 11 00 11

There was a strange sense of nostalgia, Sam being in Abby's office in her lab. Tim and Abby were in front of the lab's computers as he did some research on her office computer.   
McGee had opted to let Abby use the computer program to create an image of the description of his attacker; not wanting Tony to have even the slightest opportunity to resurface the feelings of guilt he'd harbored for his disappearance in the first place. “His nostrils were a little wider,” he told her, “And he was bald...had a tattoo above his right temple,” he closed his eyes, trying to remember. “It was a...a snake. An ouroboros,” he opened his eyes and focused on the forensic goth. “Do you think he could be part of some kinda cult?”

“What?” she narrowed her eyes at him in question.

He stood from the stool and made a short pacing track beside her, “The snake...Abby, that thing that possessed me was a snake... I- I remember it, clearly. It...slithered...” he visibly shuddered as he remembered how the thing had circled around him, “Then it was crushing me... Anyway...the tattoo; if there's a group of people or demons or both, chances are they'd get something like that, right? To signify to each other who they were?”

“It's possible,” Abby said. “Are you okay, McGee?” she asked with worried eyes.

“What?” he furrowed his brow as he paused in his steps. “Yeah, I'm fine... Just run the facial recognition. I'll see if Sam and I can find anyone in the database with a similar tattoo, or mentionings of such a cult.” With the, he turned on his heel and headed through the glass door to her office. Sam looked up from his work. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sam gave him a small smile, “Find anything?”

“Not yet,” he pulled a second chair around to sit at the desk beside him, “But I remembered the guy who cut through my tattoo, had one of his own; an ouroboros. I was thinking it might be some sort of gang tat, or cult tat...”

“Like this?” Sam brought up a photo on the screen. It was of a man's arm; an ouroboros tattoo that seemed slightly fresh.

“Yeah,” McGee furrowed a brow.

“Metro police found this guy's body abandoned in a field near the Potomac. Reports say he died in a wild dog attack right around the same time as the Marine,” he raised his brow as he looked back over at Tim. “I wonder why you didn't hear about it, seeing as it was originally your team's case.”

“We handed it back over once we realized what really happened. So yeah, it wouldn't have passed over our desks. I'll try and get this guy's information and we can go check out his home; see if we can catch any leads as to who else could be involved.” He stood and moved toward the door, but paused and turned back to face Sam. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh...sure?” Sam looked up at him.

“Do you uh...do you still have nightmares? About Dean...being killed by that hellhound?” he asked nervously.

Sam looked slightly away from him for a moment, then met his eyes again, “Yeah. Not as many; not as often. But yeah.”

“It's just...” he took a few steps back toward the desk, “I think Tony's been having them, too. Like he's reliving it every time he sleeps. I don't know how to help him.”

Sam smirked, sympathetically, “Well, you know he's not the one who got torn apart by a demon dog.”

“Seriously, I don't even think about that anymore...well, not hardly. Other, worse things stick out more in my mind.”

“Yeah...well, that's another story,” he looked down, grimly; Dean's experiences in hell coming back to his mind. “But uh...if you want,” he looked back at the agent, “I can talk to him about it. Never hurts to know someone else went through the same thing, and that it gets easier...”

“That would be...really great,” Tim told him. “I'd appreciate that. Thank you.”


	11. Chapter 11

"You've gotta work with me here, Cas," Tony insisted in his attempt to do the sketch. "I need you to describe her facial features. Hair, height and weight are all fine and everything, but it's not gonna help with facial recognition."  
"Just give me the paper and pencil," Castiel said and took them from him.  
"This oughta be good," Tony said under his breath as he glanced at an amused Ziva across the bullpen.  
"There," the angel handed them back within moments and Tony took the sketch; jaw dropping and eyes widening at the masterpiece.  
"I...can't believe you can draw like this..." he said and Ziva walked around to stand beside him and look at the picture.  
"You believe I can bring your friend back from the dead, but not that I can draw?" Castiel cocked his head.  
"Well I mean...clearly you can draw," he laughed, "It's right here in front of my face. But-"  
"DiNozzo!" Gibbs interrupted from where he sat at his desk.  
"Yes, boss?"  
"Get the sketch down to Abby."  
"On it, boss."  
Just as Tony ducked into the stairwell, the elevator opened and McGee walked out toward the bullpen. The first thing he noticed was Dean engrossed by something on his computer, which he'd been hoping to use at that moment, but decidedly went to Tony's. "We found something, boss," he said as he typed away at the keyboard. Everyone's eyes went to him. "I remembered a tattoo on the guy's head. Sam found an article on a civilian death in the area," he pulled up some information on the big screen and moved to stand in front of it with the remote.  
Ziva, Gibbs and Dean stood to watch; Castiel remained farther behind, but also paid attention as the agent explained. "Jared Montrose was reportedly killed by a wild dog the same day Lieutenant Shriver was killed. But, unlike Shriver," he pressed a button pulling up a closeup of his tattoo, "Montrose had an ouroboros tattoo; same tattoo as the guy who...the guy I saw when I was held captive," he decidedly finished.  
"So this is some kinda gang?" Dean asked.  
"More like a cult," McGee said.  
"Jormangand was a snake god, yes?" Ziva asked. "Perhaps this cult revolved around his resurrection?"  
"More like a coven," Castiel said. "The woman whom I'd spoken with whilest being held, spoke of receiving real power from the demon she was working for. These people, this 'cult', is involved in witchcraft. As Dean said, however, if we find them, we will find who they're following."  
"You get an address for this Montrose guy, McGee?" Gibbs asked.  
"His last known address was a homeless shelter in the Metro area," he replied.  
In that moment, Gibbs' desk phone rang and he turned to pick it up, "Yeah. Gibbs." A brief pause allowed the person on the other line to talk before he spoke again, "I'll be right down." He hung up the phone. "Abby's got a hit on the sketches."  
11 00 11 00 11  
Ducky stood in the living room appraising the frozen state of the picture window. He'd opted to stay at the house with Bobby, who'd spent a better part of the morning on his phone. Bobby's hopes were to find someone,anyone, who might know anything about the demonic activity in the D.C area. But so far, he'd come up empty-handed.  
Frustrated, the hunter threw his phone down on the table and went to the fridge for a drink. The good doctor, sensing his newest friend's frustration, decided a small distraction might be in order. "You know," he began, speaking loud enough for the man to hear whilest still looking at the window, "The scientist in me craves to scrape a bit of this frost and examine its properties. But the logical part of my brain, which honestly should coincide with the science, knows that it could compromise its protective qualities. Which is precisely what we needed to say to persuade Abigail not to draw pictures in it with her fingers," he smirked as Bobby met up at his side.  
"Well I can tell you one thing for sure," he told him, "Whatever's in that stuff, your machines won't be able to identify. Pretty sure of that."  
"And yet you place a great deal of trust in the fact it will work," Ducky noted.  
"You'd be surprised what a little bag of random crap can protect a person from," he smirked before turning back toward the kitchen. "Up for a little readin', Ducky?"  
"I've been know to devote a better part of a Sunday to a good book," he replied as he followed.  
"Well I don't know how captivating it'll be," Bobby slapped a book down on the table, "But I, for one, would like to have some idea what else we could end up dealin' with."  
11 00 11 00 11  
Dean, Gibbs and Tony approached the country-type house that had come up as the address for the woman now known as Tammy Baker.  
"Creepy lawn-gnome at your one o'clock, boss," Tony said in a hushed tone. Gibbs glanced at him with a bit of a glare. "Gotta look out for red flags, right? Lawn-gnomes fall under the same category as clowns and dolls that decide to turn evil and kill you...usually while your sleeping."  
"Well don't fall asleep," Gibbs said in a matter-of-fact tone as they climbed the steps to the porch. Tony did the honors of knocking.  
Dean snickered, "Killer lawn-gnomes." He shook his head, though Tony's eyes widened a bit at the statement; worry spreading almost comically on his face.  
"You laughed about the gnomes...but not the clowns and dolls. This worries me greatly."  
Dean wasn't able to respond before the door opened. "Yes, can I help you?" a woman in her fifties appeared in the doorway.  
Gibbs opened his badge. "Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Is there a Tammy Baker here?"  
"I don't understand," the woman said. "NCIS? Metro's missing persons department told me they couldn't do anything, but I had no idea they were sending you. You're Navy cops, right?"  
"Missing persons?" Tony asked.  
"Well, yes," she replied. "Tammy went missing for a while. But we've seen her on and off. The police said that doesn't give them reason to continue to track her down. I guess I see their point; she's a grown woman and she's obviously okay...I suppose."  
"Ma'am, we-"  
"Please, call me Maggie. Ma'am is so... I'd just rather you not."  
"Of course, Maggie," Gibbs humored her. "We're afraid Tammy could be involved in something very dangerous. We're here to help."  
"Oh," she took a breath and backed up to open the door wider, "Then please come in." She led them to the living room and they all took seats on the couch and armchair; Maggie sitting in the chair across from the couch. "I'm Tammy's mother, as I'm sure Metro informed you. And as I told them, Tammy had started to hang around with a group of people I didn't really approve of."  
"Tammy lives with you?" Dean asked.  
"She was living with her boyfriend, Scott, for a few years once she graduated high school," she replied. "When they broke up, she was pretty devastated. She moved back in here about a year ago. Got herself into college and kept herself distracted. That's where she met these 'friends'. They went to night school with her."  
"Did you ever meet any of these friends?" Gibbs asked.  
"She brought a couple of them home for dinner one night. They seemed very nice. There was just...something about them," she sighed. "They gave off a creepy vibe. I didn't say anything at the time, of course. Not until she showed up drunk one night, and I ended up catching a glimpse of a tattoo she'd gotten to match hers friends'."  
"What kind of tattoo, Maggie?" Tony asked.  
"It was a serpent," she scoffed, "In a circle, like it was eating its own tail."  
"And you said her friends all had this same tattoo?" Gibbs inquired.  
"Not in the same area, but yes. Is it a gang tattoo? Oh god it's a gang tattoo, isn't it?" she covered her mouth.  
"Maggie, this is very important," Tony leaned forward, "Do you know the names of Tammy's friends?"  
"I gave the ones I knew to Metro," she replied. "The only thing they could find out about them was that they were homeless. That's how I found Tammy last week. She was at the Covenant House."  
Tony glanced at Gibbs, then Dean. That's where they'd sent Sam and Ziva...  
11 00 11 00 11  
Sam and Ziva were walking up toward the Covenant House; the last known address for Montrose, when Sam's cell rang. After fishing it out, he saw it was Dean calling. "Hey, Dean. What's up?"  
"Change of plans, Sammy. Looks like the Covenant House could be the nest."  
"Are you kidding, man? This place is like...Bible-thumper central," he said as he gently grabbed Ziva's arm to stop them both from progressing further. She looked at him with question and he held up a finger.  
"Might not be everyone. But it looks as though a fair amount of the people we're lookin' for are stayin' there. Might be too dangerous to head in there yourselves."  
"Then we won't ask questions; we'll just scope out the place."  
"Not my call, Sam. Gibbs wants you and Ziva to wait for backup. It'd probably be better if we came back later. Somethin' tells me these guys aren't doin' spells when people are lookin'."  
"Well," Sam looked around and noticed a separate building off to the side, "It looks like they've got some kinda rec center in another building. Maybe they have...meetings?"  
"Only one way to find out. For now, though, you and Ziva shouldn't be hangin' around there. They might recognize one of you and take a little initiative."  
"You're forgetting we've got Cas in the car," Sam smirked as he looked over at the unamused angel who sat patiently in the back seat of the agency car parked on the curb.  
"No, I'm not. That's all the more reason you need to get the hell outta there. That Tammy chick is in that place. Somehow, she's got holy oil. No sense in taking that risk again."  
Sam sighed. "Okay. We'll...meet back up with you guys," he ended the call and turned to Ziva. "We need to go. I'll explain in the car."  
11 00 11 00 11  
"Well, this is quite a pleasant surprise," Ducky said as the team unpacked an array of take-out from a little mom an' pop home-cooking cafe in town.  
"Gotta eat, right?" Tony said. "Plus, you guys got stuck here all day again. Thought we'd make it up to ya. Wait'll you try Maria's baked ziti," he popped open the top to a large container.  
"Did ya buy out the buffet?" Bobby asked as he brought a stack of plates to the table.  
"Just wanted to make sure everyone got somethin' they wanted," Dean said as he opened another container. "Here's your boring salad, Sammy," he handed it over to his brother.  
"Call it boring if you want," Sam defended, "But I won't be suffering from indigestion later when we're bringing down the coven."  
"Burgers might give you indigestion," Dean said as he grinned at his own meal, "But you forget, I'm pretty much immune now."  
"Boss!" Tony called out after opening another container. "Got your steak and potato here." Gibbs took the container and a plate as Tony handed them over, then grabbed a knife and fork from the drawer before heading to the living room. "Ziva, did you get a salad?"  
"They did not have Philly cheese steak," she said as she took the container.  
"There's plenty of ziti," he smirked.  
"Perhaps I will try some later," she turned toward the living room as well, to make room in the over crowded kitchen.  
"I'll totally try the ziti, Tony," Abby said, excitedly as she held out her plate. He grinned and plopped a big scoop onto it.  
"How 'bout you, Probie? Wanna try the ziti or take your chances with the chicken fingers?"  
"Chicken fingers are for Bobby!" Dean shouted from the living room.  
"You can have some, if you want," Bobby chuckled. "I wouldn't mind tryin' the ziti, now that I'm smellin' it."  
"Yeah, the ziti smells great," McGee said. "I think I'll just have that."  
Tony served them both, handing them each a fork before fixing himself a plate. Then he looked over to Castiel, who seemed preoccupied as he stood in the corner. "How about you, Cas? Do angels eat?"  
Castiel looked over at him, "It is not required."  
"Well, what's the fun in that?" Tony let out a small laugh. "It's one of the few things a man can really enjoy in life."  
"It's a lost cause, Tony!" Dean yelled from the living room. "Although, if you can manage to channel Jimmy, he'll go through the whole platter in one go."  
"Jimmy?" Ducky inquired after swallowing a mouthful of the pasta.  
"His vessel," Sam provided from his seat at the table.  
"Ah. My assistant's name is Jimmy. Pleasant young lad, though I dare say, probably doesn't share the same appetite." After a few moments of pushing the pasta around with his fork, Ducky looked up at Sam, "Now, what's this I hear about taking down the coven?"  
Sam glanced at Tony for a moment before answering, "Well, we think we've found their 'nest', so to speak. We're waiting for nightfall and we're gonna go in; see if we can't catch them in the middle of a meeting."  
"And if there are demons present?" the doctor inquired.  
"Before anything," Bobby interjected, "We lay devil's traps at each exit, just like the last time."  
"The fact that we'll be under cover at night, we'll hopefully catch them offguard," Sam explained.  
Dean reentered the kitchen to toss out his emptied tray, "If they are holding a meeting, chances are they're planning another summoning. Which means, of course, that we need to move pretty quickly."  
"One thing I don't quite understand," Ducky said. "Why would any demon want to summon a demon-god, whose power seems much greater than their own? What's the purpose?"  
"Amusement," Castiel answered flatly. "Entertainment in the form of suffering and death." A grim silence fell over the kitchen.  
Dean, after a moment, plastered a nervous smile on his face, "Cas is a little...straight-forward..."  
11 00 11 00 11  
While Ducky and Abby had been ordered to stay home, the rest of them had made quick work of getting to the rec building beside the Covenant House. Seeing the group of people inside, they made silent work of trapping each doorway after teaming off at each exit.  
Observing from the window, Dean was able to determine that there was only one demon. One. And that somewhat pissed him off. He'd really wanted to dust some demon-ass tonight. But there were five others; humans. Four women and one man. The man looked a hell of a lot like the guy McGee had described. The demon, however, was possessing Tammy.  
Dean kinda hoped he'd get to use the colt tonight. "We ready to go in?" he asked Sam.  
"Wait...what's she doing?" he squinted in through the window. Dean looked just as Tammy held up her hand, closed her eyes, and clenched it into a fist. One of the women dropped lifelessly to the floor.  
"What the hell?" he watched as she did it again; the bald man dropping next. "They're just standing there, letting her kill them!"  
"We need to get in there. Now!" Sam said before signaling to the others.  
They stormed into the building, weapons drawn. But the demon in Tammy didn't seem phased or disturbed as she killed the remaining women without missing a beat.  
It was only then that they noticed that Tammy's shirt was wet with her own blood; her own bloody knife still in her other hand. She turned to face Dean before smiling, "You're too late," and she began to laugh. Dean pulled the trigger, hitting her in the very spot she'd plunged the knife into her chest.  
Her body flashed before plummeting to the floor like her victims.  
The team was left standing there in awe; a feeling of failure, anger and disappointment running through their veins.  
"You should not have killed her," Castiel said as he entered the building.  
Dean looked over at him incredulously, "Why the hell not, Cas? The chick just offed five people! We might've been too late to save them, but I'll be damned if I was gonna let her kill anyone else!"  
"You heard her," Castiel said. "We were too late. But these people willingly offered their lives."  
"What the hell does that mean?" Sam asked.  
"It's a summoning ritual," he told them, "To bring Hel up from the Underworld..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin


End file.
